THROUGH  THE  FRAY 


rnia 
il 


G.A.HENTY 


f/: 


- 


's  HoiutoB  AT  THE  DREADFUL  NEWS. 


THROUGH   THE    FRAY 


A  TALE  OF  THE  LUDDITE  RIOTS 


BY 

G.  A.   HENTY 

-MJTHOR  OF  "WITH   CLIVE  IN  INDIA,"  "   BY  SHEER  PLUCK,"    "BT  PIKE 
AND  DYKE,"   "  UNDER  DRAKE'S  FLAG,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


NEW  VORK 

HURST    &   COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS. 


PREFACE. 


MY  DEAR  LADS:  The  beginning  of  the  present  cen. 
tury,  glorious  as  it  was  for  British  arms  abroad,  was  a 
dark  time  to  those  who  lived  by  their  daily  labor  at 
home.  The  heavy  taxation  entailed  by  the  war,  the  in- 
jury to  trade,  and  the  enormous  prices  of  food,  all  pressed 
heavily  upon  the  working-classes.  The  invention  of 
improved  machinery,  vast  as  has  been  the  increase  of 
trade  which  it  has  brought  about,  at  first  pressed  heavily 
upon  the  hand  workers,  who  assigned  all  their  distress  to 
the  new  inventions.  Hence  a  movement  arose,  which 
did  much  damage  and  for  a  time  threatened  to  be  ex- 
tremely formidable.  It  had  its  ramifications  through  all 
the  manufacturing  districts  of  England,  the  object  being 
the  destruction  of  the  machinery,  and  a  return  to  the  old 
methods  of  work.  The  troubles  which  occurred  in  vari- 
ous parts  of  the  country  were  known  as  the  Luddite 
Kiots,  and  the  secret  body  which  organized  them  was 
called  King  or  General  Lud.  In  the  present  story  I  have 
endeavored  to  give  you  an  idea  of  the  state  of  things 
which  prevailed  in  Yorkshire,  where,  among  the  crop- 
pers and  others  employed  in  the  woolen  manufactures, 
was  one  of  the  most  formidable  branches  of  the  secret 
association.  The  incidents  of  the  murder  of  Mr.  Hors- 
fall  and  the  attack  upon  Mr.  Cartwright's  mill  are  strictly 
accurate  in  all  their  details. 

In  this  story  I  have  left  the  historical  battle-fields, 
across  BO  many  of  which  I  have  taken  you,  and  have  en- 


iv  PREFACE. 

deavored  to  show  that  there  are  peaceful  battles  to  be 
fought  and  victories  to  be  won  every  jot  as  arduous  and 
as  difficult  as  those  contested  under  arms.  In  "Facing 
Death"  my  hero  won  such  a  battle.  He  had  to  fight 
against  external  circumstances,  and  step  by  step,  by  per- 
severance, pluck,  and  determination,  made  his  way  in 
life.  In  the  present  tale  my  hero's  enemy  was  within, 
and  although  his  victory  was  at  last  achieved  the  victor 
was  well-nigh  worsted  in  the  fray.  We  have  all  such 
battles  to  fight,  dear  lads;  may  we  all  come  unscathed 
and  victorious  through  the  fray  ! 

Yours  sincerely, 

G.  A.  HENTY. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PA.es 
A  Fishing  Expedition, •       ,       .      1 

CHAPTER  IL 

The  Fight  on  the  Moor,        .        .        ...       .       .       t        .16 

CHAPTER  m. 
A  Cropper  V/Mage, •  ,  •  .  31 

CHAPTER  IV. 
The  Wonfls  V  urn, 9  ,46 

CHAPTER  V. 
The  New  H?Jter,  fii 

•*•••*      ul 

CHAPTER  VL 
'^e  Thief  Detected, 76 

CHAPTER  VIL 
•Y  Terrible  Shock, 91 

CHAPTER  Vm. 
tfed  is  Sorely  Tried, 105 

CHAPTER  IX. 
A  Painful  Time, .  121 

CHAPTER  X. 

Troubles  at  Home 136 

CHAPTER  XL 
The  New  Machinery, 151 

CHAPTER  Xn. 
Murdered  i., •••.  164 


vi  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XIIL 

PAGE 

Committed  for  Trial,  178 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
Committed  for  Trial, 193 

CHAPTER  XV. 
Not  Guilty, 208 

CHAPTER  XVL 

Luke  Marner's  Sacrifice, .  322 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

A  Lonely  Life, 286 

CHAPTER  XVm. 
Ned  is  Attacked, •       .  259 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
The  Attack  on  Cartwright's  Mill,        ......  284 

CHAPTER  XX 
Cleared  at  Last, 399 


THROUGH  THE  FRAY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  FISHING  EXPEDITION". 

IT  has  just  struck  one,  and  the  boys  are  streaming  out 
from  the  schoolroom  of  Mr.  Hathorn's  academy  in  the 
little  town  of  Marsden  in  Yorkshire.  Their  appearance 
would  create  some  astonishment  in  the  minds  of  lads  of 
the  present  generation,  for  it  was  the  year  1807,  and 
their  attire  differed  somewhat  materially  from  that  now 
worn.  They  were  for  the  most  part  dressed  in  breeches 
tight  at  the  knee,  and  buttoning  up  outside  the  close- 
fitting  jacket  nearly  under  the  arms,  so  that  they  seemed 
almost  devoid  of  waist.  At  the  present  moment  they 
were  bareheaded;  but  when  they  went  beyond  the  pre- 
cincts of  the  school  they  wore  stiff  caps,  flat  and  very 
large  at  the  top,  and  with  far-projecting  peaks. 

They  were  not  altogether  a  happy  looking  set  of  boys, 
and  many  of  their  cheeks  were  stained  with  tears  and 
begrimed  with  dirt  from  the  knuckles  which  had  been 
used  to  wipe  them  away;  for  there  was  in  the  year  1807 
but  one  known  method  of  instilling  instruction  into  the 
youthful  mind,  namely,  the  cane,  and  one  of  the  chief 
qualifications  of  a  schoolmaster  was  to  be  able  to  hit  hard 
and  sharp. 

Mr.  Hathorn,  judged  by  this  standard,  stood  very  high 
in  his  profession;  his  cane  seemed  to  whiz  through  the 
so  rapidly  and  strongly  did  it  descend,  and  he  had 


2  T3RO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

the  knack  of  finding  out  temder  places,  and  of  hitting 
them  unerringly.  Any  one  passing  in  front  of  the 
schoolhouse  during  the  hours  when  the  boys  were  at 
their  lessons  would  be  almost  sure  to  hear  the  sharp 
cracks  of  the  cane,  followed  sometimes  by  dead  silence, 
when  the  recipient  of  the  blows  was  of  a  sturdy  and 
Spartan  disposition,  but  more  frequently  by  shrieks  and 
cries. 

That  Hathorn's  boys  hated  their  master  was  almost  a 
matter  of  course.  At  the  same  time  they  were  far  from 
regarding  him  as  an  exceptional  monster  of  cruelty,  for 
they  knew  from  their  friends  that  flogging  prevailed 
almost  everywhere,  and  accepted  it  as  a  necessary  por- 
tion of  the  woes  of  boyhood.  Indeed,  in  some  respects, 
when  not  smarting  under  the  infliction,  they  were  in- 
clined to  believe  that  their  lot  was,  in  comparison  with 
that  of  others,  a  fortunate  one;  for  whereas  in  many 
schools  the  diet  was  so  poor  and  bad  that  the  boys  were 
half-starved,  at  Hathorn's  if  their  food  was  simple  and 
coarse  it  was  at  least  wholesome  and  abundant. 

Mr.  Hathorn,  in  fact,  intended,  and  as  he  quite  be- 
lieved with  success,  to  do  his  duty  by  his  boys.  They 
were  sent  to  him  to  be  taught,  and  he  taught  them 
through  the  medium  then  recognized  as  most  fitting  for 
the  purpose — the  cane;  while,  as  far  as  an  abundance  of 
porridge  for  breakfast,  and  of  heavy  pudding  at  dinner, 
with  twice  a  week  an  allowance  of  meat,  the  boys  were 
unstinted.  He  would  indeed  point  with  pride  to  his 
pupils  when  their  parents  assembled  at  the  annual  pre- 
sentation of  prizes. 

"Look  at  them!"  he  would  say  proudly.  "None  of 
your  half-starved  skeletons  here — well-filled  out  and  in 
good  condition  every  boy  of  them — no  stint  of  'porridge 
here.  It  keeps  them  in  good  health  and  improves  their 
learning;  for,  mark  you,  a  plump  boy  feels  the  cant 


THRO  UGH  THE  FSA  T  3 

twice  as  much  as  a  skinny  one;  it  stings,  my  dear  sir,  it 
stings,  and  leaves  its  mark;  whereas  there  is  no  getting 
at  a  boy  whose  clothes  hang  like  bags  about  him." 

This  was  no  doubt  true,  and  the  boys  themselves  were 
conscious  of  it,  and  many  had  been  the  stern  resolutions 
made  while  smarting  in  agony  that  henceforward  food 
should  be  eschewed,  or  taken  only  in  sufficient  quantities 
to  keep  life  together.  But  boys'  appetites  are  stronger 
than  boys'  resolutions,  and  in  the  end  there  was  never 
any  marked  falling  off  in  the  consumption  of  viands  at 
Hathorn's. 

Like  other  things  punishment  fails  when  administered 
in  excess.  There  was  no  disgrace  whatever  in  what  was 
common  to  all;  for  although  some  boys  of  superior  ability 
and  perseverance  would  escape  with  a  smaller  amount  of 
punishment  than  their  fellows,  none  could  hope  to  escape 
altogether.  Thus  it  was  only  the  pain  that  they  had  to 
bear,  and  even  this  became  to  some  extent  deadened  by 
repetition,  and  was  forgotten  as  soon  as  inflicted,  save 
when  a  sudden  movement  caused  a  sharp  pain  in  back  or 
leg.  Once  in  the  playground  their  spirits  levived,  and 
except  a  few  whose  recent  punishment  incapacitated 
them  for  a  time  from  active  exercise,  the  whole  were 
soon  intent  upon  their  games. 

One  only  of  the  party  wore  his  cap,  and  he  after  a  few 
minutes  left  the  others,  and  went  toward  a  door  which  led 
from  the  playground  into  the  road. 

"Don't  be  long,  Sankey;  come  back  as  soon  as  you 
can,  you  know  we  agreed  to  go  fishing  this  afternoon." 

"All  right,  Tompkins;  I  will  come  back  directly  I  have 
done  my  dinner.  I  expect  I  shall  have  finished  quite  as 
soon  as  you  will." 

Edward  Sankey,  who  was  regarded  with  envy  by  his 
school-fellows,  was  the  only  home  boarder  at  Hathorn's; 
for,  as  a  general  thing,  the  master  set  his  face  against 


4  THRO  UOH  THE  FRA  F. 

the  introduction  of  home  boarders.  They  were,  he  con- 
sidered, an  element  of  disturbance;  they  carry  tales  to 
and  from  the  school;  they  cause  discontent  among  the 
other  boys,  and  their  parents  are  in  the  habit  of  protest- 
ing and  interfering. 

Not,  indeed,  that  parents  in  those  days  considered  it 
in  any  way  a  hardship  for  their  boys  to  suffer  corporal 
punishent;  they  had  been  flogged  at  school,  and  they 
believed  that  they  had  learned  their  lessons  all  the  better 
for  it.  Naturally  the  same  thing  would  happen  to  their 
sons.  Still  mothers  are  apt  to  be  weak  and  soft-hearted, 
and  therefore  Mr.  Hathorn  objected  to  home  boarders. 
He  ha'd  made  an  exception  in  Sankey 's  case;  his  father 
was  of  a  different  type  to  those  of  the  majority  of  hia 
boys;  he  had  lost  his  leg  at  the  battle  of  Assaye,  and  had 
.been  obliged  to  leave  the  army,  and  having  but  small 
means  beyond  his  pension,  had  settled  near  the  quiet 
little  Yorkshire  town  as  a  place  where  he  could  live 
more  cheaply  than  in  more  bustling  localities. 

He  had,  when  he  first  came,  no  acquaintances  what- 
ever in  the  place,  and  therefore  would  not  be  given  to 
discuss  with  the  parents  of  other  boys  the  doings  in  the 
school.  Not  that  Mr.  Hathorn  was  afraid  of  discussion, 
for  he  regarded  his  school  as  almost  perfect  of  its  kind. 
Still  it  was  his  fixed  opinion  that  discussion  was,  as  a 
general  rule,  unadvisable.  Therefore,  when  Captain 
Sankey,  a  few  weeks  after  taking  up  his  residence  in  the 
locality,  made  a  proposal  to  him  that  his  son  shonild  at- 
tend his  school  as  a  home  boarder,  Mr.  Hathorn  acceded 
to  the  proposition,  stating  frankly  his  objections,  as  a 
rule,  to  boys  of  that  class. 

"I  shall  not  interfere,"  Captain  Sankey  said.  "Of 
course  boys  must  be  thrashed,  and  provided  that  the 
punishment  is  not  excessive,  and  that  it  is  justly  admin- 
istered, I  have  nothing  to  say  against  it.  Boys  must  be 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  7.  5 

ptraished,  and  if  you  don't  flog  you  have  to  confine  them, 
and  in  my  opinion  that  is  far  worse  for  a  boy's  temper, 
spirit,  and  health." 

So  Ned  Sankey  went  to  Hathorn's,  and  was  soon  a 
great  favorite  there.  Just  at  first  he  was  regarded  as  a 
disobliging  fellow  because  he  adhered  strictly  to  a  stipu- 
lation which  Mr.  Hathorn  had  made,  that  he  should  not 
bring  things  in  from  the  town  for  his  school-fellows. 
Only  once  a  week,  on  the  Saturday  half-holiday,  were 
the  boys  allowed  outside  the  bounds  of  the  wall  round 
the  playground,  and  although  on  Wednesday  an  old 
woman  was  allowed  to  come  into  those  precincts  to  sell 
fruit,  cakes,  and  sweets,  many  articles  were  wanted  in 
the  course  of  the  week,  and  the  boys  took  it  much  amiss 
for  a  time  that  Ned  refused  to  act  as  their  messenger; 
but  he  was  firm  in  his  refusals.  His  father  had  told  him 
not  to  do  so,  and  his  father's  word  was  law  to  him;  but 
when  the  boys  saw  that  in  all  other  respects  he  was  a 
thoroughly  good  fellow,  they  soon  forgave  him  what  they 
considered  his  undue  punctiliousness,  and  he  became  a 
prime  favorite  in  the  school. 

It  is  due  to  Mr.  Hathorn  to  say  that  no  fear  of  inter- 
ference induced  him  to  mitigate  his  rule  to  thrash  when 
he  considered  that  punishment  was  necessary,  and  that 
Ned  received  his  full  share  of  the  general  discipline.  He 
was  never  known  to  utter  a  cry  under  punishment,  for 
he  was,  as  his  school-fellows  said  admiringly,  as  hard  as 
nails;  and  he  was,  moreover,  of  a  dogged  disposition 
which  would  have  enabled  him,  when  he  had  once  deter- 
mined upon  a  thing,  to  carry  it  through  even  if  it  killed 
him. 

Mr.  Hathorn  regarded  this  quality  as  obstinacy,  the 
boys  as  iron  resolution;  and  while  the  former  did  his 
best  to  conquer  what  he  regarded  as  a  fault,  the  boys 
encouraged  by  their  admiration  what  they  viewed  as  a 
Virtue. 


6  THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  T. 

At  home  Ned  never  spoke  of  his  punishments;  and  if 
his  father  observed  a  sudden  movement  which  told  of  a 
hidden  pain,  and  would  say  cheerfully,  "What!  have  you 
been  getting  it  again,  Ned?"  the  boy  would  smile  grimly 
and  nod,  but  no  complaint  ever  passed  his  lips.  There 
was  no  disgrace  in  being  flogged — it  was  the  natural  lot 
of  schoolboys;  why  should  he  make  a  fuss  about  it?  So 
he  held  his  tongue.  But  Mr.  Hathorn  was  not  altogether 
wrong.  Ned  Sankey  was  obstinate,  but  though  obstinate 
he  was  by  no  means  sulky.  When  he  made  up  his  mind 
to  do  a  thing  he  did  it,  whether  it  was  to  be  at  the  top 
of  his  class  in  order  to  please  his  father,  or  to  set  his 
teeth  like  iron  and  let  no  sound  issue  from  them  as  Mr. 
Hathorn's  cane  descended  on  his  back. 

Ned  Sankey  was  about  fourteen  years  of  age.  He  had 
a  brother  and  a  sister,  but  between  them  and  himself 
was  a  gap  of  four  years,  as  some  sisters  who  had  been 
born  after  him  had  died  in  infancy. 

Ned  adored  his  father,  who  was  a  most  kind  and  genial 
man,  and  would  have  suffered  anything  in  silence  rather 
than  have  caused  him  any  troubles  or  annoyance  by  com- 
plaining to  him.  For  his  mother  his  feelings  were  alto- 
gether different.  She  was  a  kindly  and  well-intentioned 
woman,  but  weak  and  silly. 

On  leaving  school  she  had  gone  out  to  join  her  father 
in  India.  Captain  Sankey  had  sailed  in  the  same  ship 
and,  taken  by  her  pretty  face  and  helpless,  dependent 
manner,  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  her,  knowing  nothing 
cf  her  real  disposition,  and  they  had  been  married  upon 
their  arrival  at  the  termination  of  the  voyage.  So  loyal 
was  his  nature  that  it  is  probable  Captain  Sankey  never 
admitted  even  to  himself  that  his  marriage  had  been  a 
mistake;  but  none  of  his  comrades  ever  doubted  it.  His 
wife  turned  out  one  of  the  most  helpless  of  women. 

Under  the  plea  of  ill  health  she  had  at  a  very  earlj 


THRO  UGH  THE  Fit  A  T.  7 

period  of  their  marriage  given  up  all  attempt  to  manage 
the  affairs  of  the  household,  and  her  nerves  were  wholly 
unequal  to  the  strain  of  looking  after  her  children.  It 
was  noticeable  that  though  her  health  was  unequal  to 
the  discharge  of  her  duties,  she  was  always  well  enough 
to  take  part  in  any  pleasure  or  gayety  which  might  be 
going  on;  and  as  none  of  the  many  doctors  who  attended 
her  were  able  to  discover  any  specific  ailment,  the  general 
opinion  was  that  Mrs.  Sankey's  ill  health  was  the  creation 
of  her  own  imagination. 

This,  however,  was  not  wholly  the  case.  She  was  not 
strong;  and  although,  had  she  made  an  effort,  she  would 
have  been  able  to  look  after  her  children  like  other 
women,  she  had  neither  the  disposition  nor  the  training 
to  make  that  effort.  Her  son  regarded  her  with  the  sort 
of  pity,  not  unmingled  with  contempt,  with  which  young 
people  full  of  life  and  energy  are  apt  to  regard  those 
who  are  weak  and  ailing  without  having  any  specific  dis- 
ease or  malady  which  would  account  for  their  condition. 

"All  the  bothers  fall  upon  father,"  he  would  say  to 
himself;  "and  if  mother  did  but  make  up  her  mind  she 
could  take  her  share  in  them  well  enough.  There  was 
he  walking  about  for  two  hours  this  evening  with  little 
Lucy  in  his  arms,  because  she  had  fallen  down  and  hurt 
herself;  and  there  was  mother  lying  on  the  sofa  reading 
that  book  of  poetry,  as  if  nothing  that  happened  in  the 
house  was  any  affair  of  hers.  She  is  very  nice  and  very 
kind,  but  I  do  wish  she  wouldn't  leave  everything  for 
father  to  do.  It  might  have  been  all  very  well  before  he 
lost  his  leg,  but  I  do  think  she  ought  to  make  an  effort 
now." 

However,  Mrs.  Sankey  made  no  effort,  nor  did  her 
husband  ever  hint  that  it  would  be  better  for  herself  as 
well  as  her  family  if  she  did  so.  He  accepted  the  situa- 
tion as  inevitable,  and  patiently,  and  indeed  willingly. 


8  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

bore  her  burden  as  well  as  his  own.  Fortunately  sho 
had  in  the  children's  nurse  an  active  and  trustworthy 
woman. 

Abijah  Wolf  was  a  Yorkshire  woman.  She  had  in  her 
youth  been  engaged  to  a  lad  in  her  native  villa'je^  -* 
moment  of  drunken  folly,  a  short  time  before  the  *ay 
fixed  for  their  wedding,  he  had  been  persuaded  to  enlist. 
Abijah  had  waited  patiently  for  him  twelve  years.  Then 
he  had  returned  a  sergeant,  and  she  had  married  him 
and  followed  him  with  his  regiment,  which  was  that  in 
which  Captain  Sankey — at  that  time  a  young  ensign — 
served.  When  the  latter's  first  child  was  born  at  Madras 
there  was  a  difficulty  in  obtaining  a  white  nurse,  and 
Mrs.  Sankey  declared  that  she  would  not  trust  the  child 
to  a  native.  Inquiries  were  therefore  made  in  the  regi- 
ment, and  Sergeant  Wolf's  wife,  who  had  a  great  love 
for  children  although  childless  herself,  volunteered  to 
fill  the  post  for  a  time. 

A  few  months  afterward  Sergeant  Wolf  was  killed  in  3 
fight  with  a  marauding  hill  tribe.  His  widow,  instead 
of  returning  home  and  living  on  the  little  pension  to 
which  she  was  entitled  at  his  death,  remained  in  the 
service  of  the  Sankeys,  who  soon  came  to  regard  her  as 
invaluable. 

She  was  somewhat  rough  in  her  ways  and  sharp  with 
her  tongue;  but  even  Mrs.  Sankey,  who  was  often  ruffled 
by  her  brusque  independence,  was  conscious  of  her  value, 
and  knew  that  she  should  never  obtain  another  servant 
who  would  take  the  trouble  of  the  children  so  entirely 
off  her  hands.  She  retained,  indeed,  her  privilege  of 
grumbling,  and  sometimes  complained  to  her  husband 
that  Abijah's  ways  were  really  unbearable.  Still  she 
never  pressed  the  point,  and  Abijah  appeared  established 
as  a  permanent  fixture  in  the  Sankeys'  household. 

She  it  was  who,  when,  after  leaving  the  service,  Cap- 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  » 

tain  Sankey  was  looking  round  for  a  cheap  and  quiet 
residence,  had  recommended  Marsden. 

"There  is  a  grand  air  from  the  hills,"  she  said,  "which 
will  be  just  the  thing  for  the  children.  There's  good 
g  n  the  stream  for  yourself,  captain,  and  you  can't 
k  .  a' quieter  and  cheaper  place  in  all  England.  I  ought 
to  know,  for  I  was  born  upon  the  moorland  but  six  miles 
away  from  it,  and  should  have  been  there  now  if  I  hadn't 
followed  my  man  to  the  wars." 

"Where  are  you  going,  Master  Ned?"  she  asked  as 
the  boy,  having  finished  his  dinner,  ran  to  the  high  cup- 
board at  the  end  of  the  passage  near  the  kitchen  to  get 
his  fishing-rod. 

"I  am  going  out  fishing,  Abijah." 

"Not  by  yourself,  I  hope?" 

"No;  another  fellow  is  going  with  me.  We  are  going 
up  into  the  hills."' 

"Don't  ye  go  too  far,  Master  Ned.  They  say  the 
croppers  are  drilling  on  the  moors,  and  it  were  bad  for 
ye  if  you  fell  in  with  them." 

"They  wouldn't  hurt  me  if  I  did." 

"I  don't  suppose  they  would,"  the  nurse  said,  "but 
there  is  never  no  saying.  Poor  fellows!  they're  druv 
well-nigh  out  of  their  senses  with  the  bad  times.  What 
with  the  machines,  and  the  low  price  of  labor,  and  the 
high  price  of  bread,  they  are  having  a  tewible  time  of  it. 
And  no  wonder  that  we  hear  of  frame-breaking  in  Not- 
tingham, and  Lancashire,  and  other  places.  How  men 
can  be  wicked  enough  to  make  machines,  to  take  the 
bread  out  of  poor  men's  mouths,  beats  me  altogether." 

"Father  says  the  machinery  will  do  good  in  the  long 
run,  Abijah — that  it  will  largely  increase  trade,  and  so 
give  employment  to  a  great  many  more  people  than  at 
present.  But  it  certainly  is  hard  on  those  who  have 
learned  to  work  in  one  way  to  see  their  living  taken  away 
from  them." 


JO  T&RO  UGH  THE  FUA  T. 

"Hard!"  the  nurse  said.  "I  should  say  it  were  hard. 
I  know  the  croppers,  for  there  were  a  score  of  them  in 
my  village,  and  a  rough,  wild  lot  they  were.  They  worked 
hard  and  they  drank  hard,  and  the  girl  as  chose  a  cropper 
for  a  husband  was  reckoned  to  have  made  a  bad  match 
of  it;  but  they  are  determined  fellows,  and  you  will  see 
they  won't  have  the  bread  taken  out  of  their  mouths 
without  making  a  fight  for  it." 

"That  may  be,"  Ned  said,  "for  every  one  gives  them 
the  name  of  a  rough  lot;  but  I  must  talk  to  you  about  it 
another  time,  Abijah,  I  have  got  to  be  off,"  and  having 
now  found  his  fishing-rod,  his  box  of  bait,  his  paper  of 
hooks,  and  a  basket  to  bring  home  the  fish  he  intended 
to  get,  Ned  ran  off  at  full  speed  toward  the  school. 

As  Abijah  Wolf  had  said,  the  croppers  of  the  West 
Riding  were  a  rough  set.  Their  occupation  consisted  in 
shearing  or  cropping  the  wool  on  the  face  of  cloths. 
They  used  a  large  pair  of  shears,  which  were  so  set  that 
one  blade  went  under  the  cloth  while  the  other  worked 
on  its  upper  face,  mowing  the  fibers  and  ends  of  the  wool 
to  a  smooth,  even  surface.  The  work  was  hard  and  re- 
quired considerable  skill,  and  the  men  earned  about 
twenty-four  shillings  a  week,  a  sum  which,  with  bread 
and  all  other  necessities  of  life  at  famine  prices,  barely  suf- 
ficed for  the  support  of  their  families.  The  introduction 
of  power-looms  threatened  to  abolish  their  calling.  It 
was  true  that  although  these  machines  wove  the  cloth 
more  evenly  and  smoothly  than  the  hand-looms,  croppers 
were  still  required  to  give  the  necessary  smoothness  of 
face;  still  the  tendency  had  been  to  lower  wages. 

The  weavers  were  affected  even  more  than  the  crop- 
pers, for  strength  and  skill  were  not  so  needed  to  tend 
the  power-looms  as  to  work  the  hand-looms.  Women 
and  boys  could  do  the  work  previously  performed  by 
men,  and  the  tendency  of  wages  was  everywhere  to  fall. 


THROUGH  THE  FRAY.  11 

For  years  a  deep  spirit  of  discontent  had  been  seething 
among  the  operatives  in  the  cotton  and  woolen  manufac- 
tures, and  there  had  been  riots  more  or  less  serious  in 
Derbyshire,  Nottingham,  Lancashire  and  Yorkshire, 
which  in  those  days  were  the  headquarters  of  these 
trades.  Factories  had  been  burned,  employers  threat- 
ened and  attacked,  and  the  obnoxious  machines  smashed. 
It  was  the  vain  struggle  of  the  ignorant  and  badly  paid 
people  to  keep  down  production  and  to  keep  up  wages, 
to  maintain  manual  labor  against  the  power  of  the  steam- 
engine.  Hitherto  factories  had  been^.  rare,  men  working 
the  frames  in  their  own  homes,  and  utilizing  the  labor  of 
their  wives  and  families,  and  the  necessity  of  going  miles 
uway  to  work  in  the  mills,  where  the  looms  were  driven 
by  steam,,  added  much' to  the  discontent. 

Having  found  his  fishing  appliances  Ned  hurried  off 
to  the  school,  wEere' his  chum  Tompkins  was  already 
waiting  him,  and  the  two  set  out  at  once  on  their  expe- 
dition. They  had  four  miles  to  walk  to  reach  the  spot 
where  they  intended  to  fish. 

It  was  a  quiet  little  stream  with  deep  pools  and  many 
shadows,  and  had  its  source  in  the  heart  of  the  moor- 
lands. Neither  of  them  had  ever  tried  it  before,  but 
they  had  heard  it  spoken  of  as  one  of  the  best  streams 
for  fish  in  that  part.  On  reaching  its  banks  the  rods 
were  put  together,  the  hooks  were  baited  with  worms, 
and  a  deep  pool  being  chosen  they  set  to  work. 

After  fishing  for  some  time  without  success  they  tried 
a  pool  higher  up,  and  so  mounted  higher  and  higher  up 
the  stream,  but  ever  with  the  same  want  of  success. 

"How  could  they  have  said  that  this  was  a  good  place 
for  fish?"  Tompkins  said  angrily  at  last.  "Why,  by 
this  time  it  would  have  been  hard  luck  if  we  had  not 
caught  a  dozen  between  us  where  we  usually  fish  close  to 
the  town,  and  after  our  long  walk  we  have  not  had  even 
a  bite." 


12  THROUGH  THE  FRAT. 

"I  fancy,  Tompkins,"  Ned  said,  "that  we  are  a  couple 
of  fools.  I  know  it  is  trout  that  they  catch  in  this 
stream,  and  of  course,  now  I  think  of  it,  trout  are  caught 
in  clear  water  with  a  fly,  not  with  a  worm.  Father  said 
the  other  day  he  would  take  me  out  some  Saturday  and 
give  me  a  lesson  in  fly-fishing.  How  he  will  laugh  when 
I  tell  him  we  have  wasted  all  our  afternoon  in  trying  to 
catch  trout  with  worms!" 

"I  don't  see  anything  to  laugh  at,"  Tompkins  grum- 
bled. "Here  we  waste  a  whole  half -holiday,  and  nothing 
to  show  for  it,  and  have  got  six  or  seven  miles  at  least  to 
tramp  back  to  school." 

"Well,  we  have  had  a  nice  walk,"  Ned  said,  "even  if 
we  are  caught  in  the  rain.  However,  we  may  as  well 
put  up  our  rods  and  start.  I  vote  we  try  to  make  a 
straight  cut  home;  it  must  be  ever  so  much  shorter  to 
go  in  a  straight  line  than  to  follow  all  the  windings  of 
this  stream." 

They  had  long  since  left  the  low  lands,  where  trees 
and  bushes  bordered  the  stream,  and  were  in  a  lonely 
valley  where  the  hills  came  down  close  to  the  little 
stream,  which  sparkled  among  the  boulders  at  their  feet. 
The  slopes  were  covered  with  a  crop  of  short  wiry  grass 
through  which  the  gray  stone  projected  here  and  there. 
Tiny  rills  of  water  made  their  way  down  the  hillside  to 
swell  the  stream,  and  the  tinge  of  brown  which  showed 
up  wherever  these  found  a  level  sufficient  to  form  a  pool 
told  that  they  had  their  source  in  the  bogs  on  the  moor- 
land above.  Tompkins  looked  round  him  rather  discon- 
certedly. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "It's  a  beastly  long  way  to 
walk  round;  but  suppose  we  got  lost  in  trying  to  make 
our  way  across  the  hills." 

"Well,  just  as  you  like,"  Ned  said,  "I  am  game  to 
walk  back  the  way  we  came  or  to  try  and  make  a  straight 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  13 

ent,  only  mind  don't  you  turn  round  and  blame  me  after- 
ward. You  take  your  choice;  whichever  you  vote  for  I 
am  ready  to  do." 

"My  shoes  are  beginning  to  rub  my  heels,"  Tompkins 
said,  "so  I  will  take  the  shortest  way  and  risk  it.  I 
don't  see  we  can  go  far  out  of  our  way." 

"I  don't  see  that  we  can,"  Ned  replied.  "Marsden 
lies  to  the  east,  so  we  have  only  to  keep  our  backs  to  the 
sun;  it  won't  be  down  for  another  two  hours  yet,  and  be- 
fore that  we  ought  to  be  in.'' 

By  this  time  they  had  taken  their  rods  to  pieces, 
wound  up  their  lines,  and  were  ready  to  start.  A  few 
minutes'  sharp  climbing  took  them  to  the  top  of  the 
slope.  They  were  now  upon  the  moor,  which  stretched 
away  with  slight  undulations  as  far  as  they  could  see. 

"Now,"  Ned  said,  "we  will  make  for  that  clump  of 
rocks.  They  seem  to  be  just  in  the  line  we  ought  to 
take,  and  by  fixing  our  eyes  upon  them  we  shall  go 
straight." 

This,  however,  was  not  as  easy  to  do  as  Ned  had  fan- 
cied; the  ground  was  in  many  places  so  soft  and  boggy 
that  they  were  forced  to  make  considerable  detours. 
Nevertheless  the  rocks  served  as  a  beacon,  and  enabled 
them  to  keep  the  right  direction;  but  although  they 
made  their  way  at  the  best  of  their  speed  it  was  an  hour 
after  starting  before  they  approached  the  rock.  When 
they  were  within  fifty  yards  of  it  a  figure  suddenly  rose. 
It  was  that  of  a  boy  some  fifteen  years  of  age. 

"Goa  back,"  he  shouted;  "dang  yer,  what  be'est  a 
cooming  here  vor?" 

The  two  boys  stopped  astonished. 

"We  are  going  to  Marsden,"  Ned  replied;  "but  what's 
that  to  you?" 

"Doan't  ee  moind  wot  it  be  to  oi,"  the  boy  said;  "oi 
tell  ee  ee  can't  goa  no  further;  yoi've  got  ter  go  back." 


14  THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  T. 

"We  shan't  go  back,"  Ned  said;  "we  have  got  as 
much  right  to  go  this  way  as  you  have.  This  is  not  your 
land;  and  if  it  is,  we  ain't  hurting  it."  By  this  time 
they  were  at  the  foot  of  the  pile  of  rocks,  and  the  lad 
was  standing  some  ten  feet  above  them. 

"Oi  tell  ee,"  he  repeated  doggedly,  "yoi've  got  vor  to 
go  back."  The  boy  was  so  much  bigger  and  stronger 
than  either  Ned  or  his  companion  that  the  former,  al- 
though indignant  at  this  interference,  did  not  deem  it 
prudent  to  attempt  to  climb  the  crag,  so  he  said  to 
Tompkins: 

"Of  course  we  ain't  going  back,  but  we  had  better 
take  a  turn  so  as  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  this  fellow." 

So  saying  they  turned  to  the  right  and  prepared  to 
scout  round  the  rock  and  continue  their  way;  but  thia 
did  not  suit  their  obstructor. 

"If  ee  doan't  go  back  at  oncet  oi'll  knock  the  heads 
off  thee  shoulders." 

"We  can't  go  back,"  Tompkins  said  desperately,  "we 
are  both  as  tired  as  we  can  be,  and  my  heel  is  so  sore 
that  I  can  hardly  walk.  We  shouldn't  get  to  Marsden 
to-night  if  we  were  to  turn  back." 

"That's  nowt  to  oi,"  the  boy  said.  "Oi  hain't  a-going 
to  let  ee  pass  here." 

"What  are  we  to  do,  Ned?"  Tompkins  groaned. 

"Do!"  Ned  replied  indignantly.  "Why,  go  on,  of 
course,  Marsden  cannot  be  more  than  three  miles  off, 
and  I  ain't  going  to  walk  twelve  miles  round  to  please 
this  obstinate  brute." 

"But  he  is  ever  so  much  bigger  than  we  are,"  Tomp- 
kins  said  doubtfully. 

"Well,  there  are  two  of  us,"  Ned  said,  "and  two  to 
one  is  fair  enough  when  he  is  as  big  as  the  two  of  us  to- 
gether." 

"We  are  going  on,"  he  said  to  the  boy,  "and  if  yom 
interfere  with  us  it  will  be  the  worse  for  you." 


THROUGH  THE  FRAY.  15 

The  boy  descended  leisurely  from  his  position  on  the 
rocks. 

"  Oi  don't  want  to  hurt  ee,  but  oi've  got  to  do  as  oi 
were  bid,  and  if  ee  doan't  go  back  oi've  got  to  make  ee 
There  be  summat  a-going  on  thar,"  and  he  jerked  hit 
head  behind  him,  "  as  it  wouldn't  be  good  vor  ee  to  see, 
and  ye  bain't  a-going  vor  to  see  it." 

But  Ned  and  Tompkins  were  desperate  now,  and  drop- 
ping their  rods  made  a  rush  together  against  him. 


U 


CHAPTER  H. 

THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  MOOR. 

THE  lad  threw  himself  into  a  position  of  defense  as 
the  two  boys  rushed  at  him. 

"Oi  doan't  want  vor  to  hurt  ee,"  he  said  again,  "but  if 
ee  will  have  it,  why,  it  won't  be  moi  vault;"  and  swing- 
ing his  arm  round,  he  brought  it  down  with  such  force 
upon  the  nose  of  Tompkins  that  the  latter  was  knocked 
down  like  a  ninepin,  and,  »nce  down,  evinced  no  inten- 
tion of  continuing  the  conflict. 

In  Ned,  however,  the  lad  found  an  opponent  of  a  dif- 
ferent stamp.  The  latter  saw  at  once  that  his  opponent's 
far  greater  weight  and  strength  rendered  it  hopeless  for 
him  to  trust  to  close  fighting,  and  he  worked  round  and 
round  him,  every  now  and  then  rushing  at  him  and  de- 
livering a  telling  blow,  and  getting  off  again  before  his 
heavy  and  comparatively  unwieldy  companion  could  re- 
ply. Once  or  twice,  indeed,  the  lad  managed  to  strike 
him  as  he  came  in,  each  time  knocking  him  fairly  off  his 
feet;  but  in  the  fair  spirit  which  at  that  time  animated 
English  men  and  boys  of  all  classes  he  allowed  Ned  each 
time  to  regain  his  feet  without  interference. 

"Thou  bee'st  a  plucky  one,"  he  said,  as  Ned  after  his 
third  fall  again  faced  him,  "but  thou  hain't  strong 
enough  for  oi." 

Ned  made  no  reply,  but  nerved  himself  for  a  fresh 
effort.  The  blows  he  had  received  had  been  heavy,  and 
the  blood  was  streaming  from  his  face;  but  he  had  no 


THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  T.  It 

Idea  of  giving  in,  although  Tompkins,  in  spite  of  his 
calls  and  reproaches,  refused  to  raise  himself  beyond  a 
sitting  position. 

"It's  no  good,  Ned,"  he  replied,  "the  hrute  is  too  big 
for  us,  and  I'd  rather  try  to  walk  home  all  the  way  round 
than  get  another  like  the  last.  My  nose  feels  as  big  as 
my  head." 

Ned  hardly  heard  what  his  companion  said.  He  would 
have  been  killed  rather  than  yield  now,  and  gathering  all 
his  strength  he  sprang  at  his  opponent  like  a  tiger. 
Avoiding  the  blow  which  the  boy  aimed  at  him,  he 
leaped  upon  him,  and  flung  his  arms  round  his  neck. 
The  sudden  shock  overthrew  him,  and  with  a  crash  both 
boys  came  to  the  ground  together.  Ned  at  once  loosened 
his  hold,  and  springing  to  his  feet  again,  awaited  the 
rising  of  his  opponent.  The  latter  made  a  movement  to 
get  up,  and  then  fell  back  with  a  cry: 

"Thou  hast  beaten  me,"  he  said.  "Oi  think  rnoi  leg 
be  broke." 

Ned  saw  now  that  as  the  lad  had  fallen  his  leg  had 
been  twisted  under  him,  and  that  he  was  unable  to  extri- 
cate it.  In  a  moment  he  was  kneeling  before  the  pros- 
trate lad. 

"Oh!  I  am  sorry,"  he  exclaimed;  "but  you  know  I 
didn't  mean  to  do  it.  Here,  Tompkins,  don't  sit  there 
like  a  fool,  but  come  and  help  me  move  him  and  get  his 
leg  straight."  * 

Although  the  boys  did  this  as  gently  as  they  could,  a 
groan  showed  how  great  was  the  agony. 

"Where  is  it?"  Ned  asked. 

"Aboove  the  knee  somewhere,"  the  lad  said,  and  Ned 
put  his  hand  gently  to  the  spot,  and  to  his  horror  could 
feel  something  like  the  end  of  a  bone. 

"Oh!  dear,  what  is  to  be  done?  Here,  Tompkins, 
Cither  you  or  I  must  go  on  to  the  town  for  help." 


1$  THRO  UQH  THE  FRA  T. 

"It's  getting  dark  already,"  Tompkins  said;  "the  sun 
has  set  some  time.  How  on  earth  is  one  to  find  the 
way?" 

"Well,  if  you  like  I  will  go,"  Ned  said,  "and  you  stop 
here  with  him." 

The  lad,  who  had  been  lying  with  closed  eyes  and  a 
face  of  ghastly  pallor,  now  looked  up. 

"There  be  soom  men  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away; 
they  be  a-drilling,  they  be,  and  oi  was  sot  here  to  stop 
any  one  from  cooming  upon  em;  but  if  so  bee  as  thou 
wilt  go  and  tell  em  oi  has  got  hurt,  oi  don't  suppose  as 
they  will  meddle  with  ye." 

Ned  saw  now  why  the  lad  had  opposed  his  going  any 
further.  Some  of  the  croppers  were  drilling  on  the 
moor,  and  the  boy  had  been  placed  as  sentry.  It  wasn't 
a  pleasant  business  to  go  up  to  men  so  engaged,  especially 
with  the  news  that  he  had  seriously  injured  the  boy  they 
had  placed  on  watch.  But  Ned  did  not  hesitate  a  mo- 
ment. "You  stop  here,  Tompkins,  with  him,"  he  said 
quietly,."!  will  go  and  fetch  help.  It  is  a  risk,  of  course, 
but  we  can't  let  him  lie  here." 

So  saying,  Ned  mounted  the  rock  to  get  a  view  over 
the  moor.  No  sooner  had  he  gained  the  position  than 
he  saw  some  thirty  or  forty  men  walking  in  groups  across 
the  moor  at  a  distance  of  about  half  a  mile.  They  had 
eyidently  finished  their  drill,  and  were  making  their  way 
to  their  homes. 

This  at  least  was  satisfactory.  He  would  no  longer 
risk  their  anger  by  disturbing  them  at  their  illegal  prac- 
tices, and  had  now  only  to  fear  the  wrath  which  would 
be  excited  when  they  heard  what  had  happened  to  the 
boy.  He  started  at  a  brisk  run  after  them,  and  speedily 
came  up  to  the  last  of  the  party.  They  were  for  the 
most  part  men  between  twenty  and  thirty,  rough  and 
strongly  built,  and  armed  with  bill-hooks  and  heavj 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  Y.  19 

bludgeons,  two  or  three  of  them  carrying  guns.  One  of 
them  looked  round  on  hearing  footsteps  approaching, 
and  gave  a  sudden  exclamation.  The  rest  turned,. and 
on  seeing  Ned,  halted  with  a  look  of  savage  and  menac- 
ing anger  on  their  faces. 

"Who  be'est,  boy?  dang  ee,  what  brings  ye  here?" 

Ned  gulped  down  the  emotion  of  fear  excited  by  their 
threatening  appearance,  and  replied  as  calmly  as  he 
could: 

"I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  have  had  a  struggle  with  a  boy 
over  by  that  rock  yonder.  We  fell  together,  and  he  has 
broken  his  leg.  He  toldxme  if  I  came  over  in  this  direc- 
tion I  should  find  some  one  to  help  him." 

"Broaken  Bill's  leg,  did'stsay,  ye  young  varmint?"  one 
of  the  men  exclaimed.  "Oi've  a  good  moinde  to  wring 
yer  neck." 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  Ned  said;  "but  I  did  not  mean  it. 
I  and  another  boy  were  walking  back  to  Marsdeu  from 
fishing,  and  he  wouldn't  let  us  pass;  it  was  too  far  to  go 
back  again,  so  of  course  we  had  to  try,  and  then  there 
was  a  fight,  but  it  was  quite  an  accident  his  breaking  his 
leg." 

"Did'st  see  nowt  afore  ye  had  the  voight?"  one  of  the 
other  men  inquired. 

"No,"  Ned  replied;  "we  saw  no  one  from  the  time  we 
left  the  stream  till  we  met  the  boy  who  would  not  let  us 
pass,  and  I  only  caught  sight  of  you  walking  this  way 
from  the  top  of  the  rock." 

"If  'twere  a  vair  voight,  John,  the  boy  bain't  to  be 
blamed,  though  oi  be  main  grieved  about  thy  brother 
Bill;  but  we'd  best  go  back  for  him,  vocr  on  us.  And 
moind,  youngster,  thee'd  best  keep  a  quiet  tongue  in 
thy  head  as  to  whaat  thou'st  seen  here." 

"I  haven't  seen  anything,"  Ned  said;  "but  of  course 
if  you  wish  it  I  will  say  nothing  about  it." 


£0  THRO  UQH  TEE  FRA  Y. 

"It  were  best  for  ee,  for  if  thou  go'st  aboot  saying 
thou'st  seen  men  with  guns  and  clubs  up  here  on  tha 
moor,  it  ull  be  the  worsest  day's  work  eo've  ever  done." 

"I  will  say  nothing  about  it,"  Ned  replied,  "but 
please  come  on  at  once,  for  I  am  afraid  the  boy  is  in 
terrible  pain." 

Four  of  the  men  accompanied  Ned  back  to  the  rock. 

"Hullo,  Bill!  what's  happened  ee?"  his  brother  asked. 

"Oi've  had  a  fight  and  hurted  myself,  and  broke  my 
leg;  but  it  wa'nt  that  chap's  fault;  it  were  a  vair  voight, 
and  a  right  good  'un  he  be.  Doan't  do  nowt  to  him." 

"Well,  that's  roight  enough  then,"  the  man  said, 
"and  you  two  young  'uns  can  go  whoam.  Marsden  lies 
over  that  way;  thou  wilt  see  it  below  ye  when  ye  gets  to 
yon  rock  over  there;  and  moind  what  I  told  ee." 

"I  will,"  Ned  said  earnestly;  "but  do  let  me  come  up 
to  see  how  he  is  getting  on,  I  shall  be  so  anxious  to 
know." 

The  man  hesitated,  but  the  lad  said,  "Let  urn  coom, 
John,  he  bee  a  roight  good  un." 

"Well,  if  thou  would'st  like  it,  Bill,  he  shall  coom." 

"If  thou  coom  oop  to  Varley  and  ask  vor  Bill  Swinton, 
anyone  will  show  ee  the  place." 

"Good-by,"  Ned  said  to  the  boy,  "I  am  so  sorry  you 
have  got  hurt.  I  will  come  and  see  you  as  soon  as  I 
can."  Then  he  and  Tompkins  set  off  toward  the  rock 
the  man  had  pointed  out,  which  by  this  time,  in  the  fast 
growing  darkness,  could  scarce  be  made  out.  They 
would  indeed  probably  have  missed  it,  for  the  distance 
was  fully  a  mile  and  a  half;  but  before  they  had  gone 
many  yards  one  of  the  four  men  passed  by  them  on  a  run 
on  his  way  down  to  Marsden  to  summon  the  parish  doc- 
tor, for  a  moment's  examination  had  sufficed  to  show 
them  that  the  boy's  injury  was  far  too  serious  to  treat  by 
themselves.  Tired  as  the  boys  were,  they  set  c-ff  in  his 


THRO  UGH  THE  FBA  F.  81 

footsteps,  and  managed  to  keep  him  in  sight  until  they 
reached  the  spot  whence  Marsden  could  be  seen,  and 
they  could  no  longer  mistake  the  way. 

"Now,  look  here,  Tompkins,"  Ned  said  as  they  made 
their  way  down  the  hill;  "don't  you  say  a  word  about 
this  affair.  You  haven't  got  much  to  boast  about  in  it, 
sitting  there  on  the  grass  and  doing  nothing  to  help  me, 
1  shan't  say  anything  more  about  that  if  you  hold  your 
tongue;  but  if  you  blab  I  will  let  all  the  fellows  know 
how  you  behaved." 

"But  they  will  all  notice  my  nose  directly  I  get  in," 
Tompkins  said.  "What  am  I  to  say?" 

"Yes,  there's  no  fear  about  their  not  noticing  your 
nose,"  Ned  replied.  "I  don't  want  you  to  tell  a  lie. 
You  can  say  the  exact  truth.  We  were  coming  home 
across  the  Ti,oors;  a  boy  interfered  with  us,  and  would 
not  let  us  pass;  we  both  pitched  into  him,  and  at  last  he 
got  the  worst  of  it,  and  we  came  home." 

"But  what's  the  harm  of  saying  that  you  and  he  fell, 
and  he  broke  his  leg?" 

"A  great  deal  of  harm,"  Ned  replied.  "If  it  wag 
known  thatH  a  boy's  leg  got  broke  in  a  fight  with  us  it 
would  be  sure  to  come  to  Hathorn's  ears;  then  there 
would  be  an  inquiry  and  a  row.  Like  enough  he  would 
go  up  to  see  the  boy  and  inquire  all  about  it.  Then  the 
men  would  suppose  that  we  had  broken  our  words,  and 
the  next  time  you  and  I  go  out  on  a  fishing  expedition 
there's  no  saying  what  mightn't  happen  to  us.  They 
are  a  rough  lot  those  moor  men,  and  don't  stick  at 
trifles." 

"I  will  say  nothing  about  it,"  Tompkins  replied  has- 
tily; "you  may  rely  on  that.  What  a  lucky  fellow  you 
are  to  be  going  home!  Nothing  will  be  said  to  you  for 
being  an  hour  late.  I  shall  get  a  licking  to  a  certainty. 
How  I  do  hate  that  Hathorn,  to  be  surel" 


22  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

They  now  came  to  the  point  where  the  road  separated 
and  each  hurried  on  at  his  best  speed. 

"You  are  late  to-night,  Ned,"  the  boy's  father  said 
when  he  entered.  "I  don't  like  your  being  out  after 
dark.  I  don't  mind  how  far  you  go  so  that  you  are  in 
by  sunset;  but,  halloo!"  he  broke  off,  as  he  caught  sight 
of  the  boy's  face  as  he  approached  the  table  at  which  the 
rest  of  the  party  were  sitting  at  tea;  "what  have  you 
been  doing  to  your  face?" 

Captain  Sankey  might  well  be  surprised.  One  of  the 
boy's  eyes  was  completely  closed  by  a  swelling  which 
covered  the  whole  side  of  his  face.  His  lip  was  badly 
cut,  and  the  effect  of  that  and  the  swelling  was  to  give 
his  mouth  the  appearance  of  being  twisted  completely  on 
one  side. 

"Oh!  there's  nothing  the  matter,"  Ned  replied  cheer- 
fully; "but  I  had  a  fight  with  a  boy  on  the  moor." 

"It  is  dreadful! — quite  dreadful!"  Mrs.  Sankey  said; 
"your  going  on  like  this.  It  makes  me  feel  quite  faint 
and  ill  to  look  at  you.  I  wonder  you  don't  get  killed 
with  your  violent  ways." 

Ned  made  no  reply  but  took  his  seat  at  the  table,  and 
fell  to  work  upon  the  hunches  of  thick  brown  bread  and 
butter. 

"I  will  tell  you  about  it  afterward,  father,"  he  said; 
"it  really  wasn't  my  fault." 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  wish  to  hear  the  story  of  your  quar- 
rels and  fighting,  Edward,"  Mrs.  Sankey  said;  "the  sight 
of  you  is  quite  enough  to  upset  my  nerves  and  make  me 
wretched.  Of  course  if  your  father  chooses  to  support 
you  in  such  goings  on  I  can  say  nothing.  Neither  he 
nor  you  seem  to  remember  how  trying  such  things  as 
these  are  to  any  one  with  a  broken  constitution  like 
mine." 

Captain  Sankey,  knowing  from  experience  how  useless 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  F.  23 

it  was  to  attempt  to  argue  with  his  wife  when  she  was  in 
this  mood,  continued  to  eat  his  meal  placidly.  Ned 
seized  his  mug  of  milk  and  water,  and  took  an  impatient 
drink  of  it. 

"Is  there  anything  I  had  better  do  for  my  face?"  he 
asked  his  father  presently. 

"I  don't  think  anything  you  can  do,  Ned,  will  make 
you  presentable  for  the  next  few  days.  I  believe  that  a 
raw  beefsteak  is  the  best  thing  to  put  on  your  face;  but 
there  is  not  such  a  thing  in  the  house,  and  if  there  was, 
I  don't  think  that  I  should  be  justified  in  wasting  it  for 
such  a  purpose.  I  should  say  the  next  best  thing  would 
be  to  keep  a  cloth  soaked  in  ccld  water  on  your  face; 
that  will  probably  take  down  the  swelling  to  some 
extent." 

After  tea  Ned  repaired  to  the  kitchen,  where  Abijah, 
with  much  scolding  and  some  commiseration,  applied  a 
wet  cloth  to  his  face,  and  fastened  a  handkerchief  over 
it  to  keep  it  in  its  place.  Then  the  boy  went  into  the 
little  room  which  his  father  called  his  study,  where  he 
used  to  read  the  papers,  to  follow  the  doings  of  the  Brit- 
ish armies  in  the  field,  and  above  all  to  smoke  his  pipe 
in  quiet.  He  laughed  as  Ned  entered. 

"You  look  like  a  wounded  hero,  indeed,  Ned.  Now 
sit  down,  my  boy,  and  tell  me  about  this  business;  not, 
you  know,  that  I  have  any  objection  to  your  fighting 
when  it's  necessary.  My  experience  is  that  it  is  the  na- 
ture of  boys  to  fight,  and  it  is  no  use  trying  to  alter  boys' 
nature.  As  I  have  always  told  you,  don't  get  into  a  fight 
if  you  can  help  it;  but,  if  you  once  begin,  fight  it  out 
like  a  man." 

"Well,  I  couldn't  help  it  this  time,  father,  and  I  will 
tell  you  all  about  it.  I  promised  not  to  tell;  but  what 
was  meant  by  that  was  that  I  should  not  tell  any  one 
who  would  do  anything  about  it;  and  as  I  know  you 
won't,  why,  of  course  I  can  tell  you." 


94  THRO  UGH  THE  FBA  T. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean  in  the  least,  Ned;  a 
promise,  whatever  it  is  about,  is  a  promise." 

"I  know,  father;  but  all  that  was  meant  in  my  case 
was  that  I  would  say  nothing  which  would  cause  injury 
to  those  to  whom  I  promised;  and  it  will  do  them  no  in- 
jury whatever  by  telling  you  in  confidence.  Besides,  it 
is  probable  you  may  learn  about  it  in  another  way;  be- 
cause, unfortunately,  I  broke  the  other  fellow's  leg  very 
badly,  and  there  is  no  saying  what  may  come  of  it,  so  I 
think  you  ought  to  know  all  the  circumstances." 

"Very  well,  Ned,"  his  father  said  quietly;  "this  seems 
to  be  a  serious  business.  Go  on,  my  boy." 

Ned  related  the  whole  circumstances,  his  father  saying 
no  word  until  he  had  finished. 

"You  have  been  in  no  way  to  blame  in  the  matter,  nor 
could  you  have  acted  otherwise.  The  breaking  of  the 
boy's  leg  is  unfortunate,  but  it  was  a  pure  accident,  and 
even  the  boy's  friends  did  not  blame  you  in  the  matter. 
As  to  the  illegal  drilling,  that  is  no  new  thing;  it  has 
been  known  to  be  going  on  for  many  months,  and,  in- 
deed, in  some  places  for  years.  The  authorities  take  but 
little  notice  of  it.  An  outbreak  of  these  poor  fellows 
would,  indeed,  constitute  a  considerable  local  danger. 
Mills  might  be  burned  down,  and  possibly  some  obnoz- 
;ous  masters  killed,  but  a  few  troops  of  dragoons,  or  half 
<,  regiment  of  light  infantry,  would  scatter  them  like 
chaff. 

"The  Irish  rebellion  thirteen  years  ago  was  a  vastly 
more  formidable  affair.  There  it  may  be  said  that  the 
whole  country  was  in  arms,  and  the  element  of  religious 
fanaticism  came  into  play;  but  in  spite  of  that  the  resist- 
ance which  they  opposed  to  the  troops  was  absolutely 
contemptible;  however,  it  is  just  as  well  that  you  did  not 
see  them  drill,  because  now,  if  by  any  chance  this  lad 
should  die,  and  inquiry  were  made  about  it,  there  would 


THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  Y.  £3 

bo  no  occasion  for  you  to  allude  to  the  subject  at  all. 
You  would  be  able  to  say  truthfully  that  finding  that  h« 
was  hurt,  you  went  off,  and  happened  to  come  upon  four 
men  on  the  moor  and  brought  them  to  his  assistance." 

"I  promised  to  go  up  to  see  the  boy,  father.  I  suppose 
that  there  is  no  harm?" 

"None  at  all,  Ned,  it  is  only  natural  that  you  should 
entertain  the  wish;  in  fact  you  have  injured  him  seri- 
ously, and  we  must  do  all  in  our  power  to  alleviate  his 
pain.  I  will  go  in  the  morning  and  see  Dr.  Green.  I 
shall,  of  course,  tell  him  that  the  boy  was  hurt  in  a  tussle 
with  you,  and  that  you  are  very  sorry  about  it.  The 
fact  that  he  is  some  two  years  older,  as  you  say,  and  ever 
so  much  stronger  and  bigger,  is  in  itself  a  proof  that  you 
were  not  likely  to  have  wantonly  provoked  a  fight  with 
him.  I  shall  ask  the  doctor  if  there  is  anything  in  the 
way  of  food  and  comforts  I  can  send  up  for  him." 

Accordingly,  the  next  morning,  the  first  thing  after 
breakfast,  Captain  Sankey  went  out  and  called  upon  the 
doctor.  Ned  awaited  his  return  anxiously.  "The  doctor 
says  it's  a  bad  fracture,  Ned,  a  very  bad  fracture,  and 
the  boy  must  have  had  his  leg  curiously  twisted  under 
him  for  the  bone  to  have  snapped  in  such  a  way.  He 
questions  whether  it  will  be  possible  to  save  the  leg;  in- 
deed, he  would  have  taken  it  off  last  night,  but  the  boy 
said  he  would  rather  die,  and  the  men  were  all  against  it. 
By  the  help  of  half  a  dozen  men  he  got  the  bones  into 
their  places  again,  and  has  bandaged  the  leg  up  with 
splints;  but  he  is  very  doubtful  what  will  come  of  it." 

Ned  was  crying  now.  "I  would  give  anything  if  it 
hadn't  happened,  father,  and  he  really  seemed  a  nice 
fellow.  He  said  over  and  over  again  he  didn't  want  to 
hurt  us,  and  I  am  sure  he  didn't,  only  he  thought  he 
oughtn't  to  let  us  pass,  and  as  we  would  go  on  he  had  to 
gtop  us." 


26  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

"Well,  it  can't  be  helped,  Ned,"  his  father  said  kindly, 
"It  is  very  natural  that  you  should  be  grieved  about  it; 
but  you  see  it  really  was  an  accident;  there  was  nothing 
willful  or  intentional  about  it,  and  you  must  not  take  it 
to  heart  more  than  you  can  help." 

But  Ned  did  take  it  to  heart,  and  for  the  next  fort- 
night was  very  miserable.  The  doctor's  reports  during 
that  time  were  not  hopeful.  Fever  had  set  in,  and  for 
some  days  the  boy  was  delirious,  and  there  was  no  saying 
how  it  would  turn  out.  At  the  end  of  that  time  the 
bulletins  became  somewhat  more  hopeful.  The  lad  was 
quiet  now  from  the  complete  exhaustion  of  his  strength. 
He  might  rally  or  he  might  not;  his  leg  was  going  on 
favorably.  No  bad  symptom  had  set  in,  and  it  was  now 
purely  a  question  of  strength  and  constitution  whether 
he  would  pull  through  it. 

Mrs.  Sankey  had  been  kept  in  entire  ignorance  of  the 
whole  matter.  She  had  once  or  twice  expressed  a  lan- 
guid surprise  at  Ned's  altered  manner  and  extreme  quiet- 
ness; but  her  interest  was  not  sufficient  for  her  to 
inquire  whether  there  were  any  reasons  for  this  change. 
Abijah  had  been  taken  into  Captain  Sankey's  counsels, 
and  as  soon  as  the  fever  had  abated,  and  the  doctor  pro- 
nounced that  the  most  nourishing  food  was  now  requi- 
site, she  set  to  work  to  prepare  the  strongest  broths  and 
jellies  she  could  make,  and  these,  with  bottles  of  port 
wine,  were  taken  by  her  every  evening  to  the  doctor,  who 
carried  them  up  in  his  gig  on  his  visits  to  his  patient  in 
the  morning.  On  the  third  Saturday  the  doctor  told 
Ned  that  he  considered  that  the  boy  had  fairly  turned 
the  corner  and  was  on  the  road  to  recovery,  and  that  he 
might  now  go  up  and  see  him.  His  friends  had  expressed 
their  warm  gratitude  for  the  supplies  which  had  been 
sent  up,  and  clearly  cherished  no  animosity  against  Ned. 
The  boy  had  been  informed  of  the  extreme  anxiety  of 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  27 

his  young  antagonist  as  to  his  condition,  and  had  nodded 
feebly  when  asked  if  he  would  see  Ned  should  he  call 
upon  him.  It  was  therefore  without  any  feeling  of  trepi- 
dation as  to  his  reception  that  Ned  on  the  Saturday 
afternoon  entered  Varley. 

Varley  was  a  scattered  village  lying  at  the  very  edge 
of  the  moor.  The  houses  were  built  just  where  the  val- 
ley began  to  dip  down  from  the  uplands,  the  depression 
being  deep  enough  to  shelter  them  from  the  winds  which 
swept  across  the  moor.  Some  of  those  which  stood  low- 
est were  surrounded  by  a  few  stumpy  fruit-trees  in  the 
gardens,  but  the  majority  stood  bleak  and  bare.  From 
most  of  the  houses  the  sound  of  the  shuttle  told  that 
hand-weaving  was  carried  on  within,  and  when  the 
weather  was  warm  women  sat  at  the  doors  with  their 
gpinning-wheels.  The  younger  men  for  the  most  part 
worked  as  croppers  in  the  factories  in  Marsden. 

In  good  times  Varley  had  been  a  flourishing  village, 
that  is  to  say  its  inhabitants  had  earned  good  wages;  but 
no  one  passing  through  the  bare  and  dreary  village  would 
have  imagined  that  it  had  ever  seen  good  days,  for  the 
greater  proportion  of  the  earnings  had  gone  in  drink, 
and  the  Varley  men  had  a  bad  name  even  in  a  country 
and  at  a  time  when  heavy  drinking  was  the  rule  rather 
than  the  exception.  But  whatever  good  times  it  may 
have  had  they  were  gone  now.  Wages  had  fallen  greatly 
and  the  prices  of  food  risen  enormously,  and  the  wolf 
was  at  the  door  of  every  cottage.  No  wonder  the  men 
became  desperate,  and  believing  that  all  their  sufferings 
arose  from  the  introduction  of  the  new  machinery,  had 
bound  themselves  to  destroy  it  whatever  happened. 

A  woman  of  whom  he  inquired  for  John  Swinton's 
cottage  told  him  that  it  was  the  last  on  the  left.  Al- 
though he  told  himself  that  he  had  nothing  to  be  afraid 
of,  it  needed  all  Ned's  determination  to  nerve  himself  to 


38  THROUGH  THE  FRAY. 

tap  at  the  door  of  the  low  thatched  cottage.  A  young 
woman  opened  it. 

"If  you  please,"  Ned  said,  "I  have  come  to  see  Bill; 
the  doctor  said  he  would  see  me.  It  was  I  who  hurt 
him,  but  indeed  I  didn't  mean  to  do  it." 

"A  noice  bizness  yoi've  made  of  it  atween  ee,"  the 
woman  said,  but  in  a  not  unkind  voice.  "Who'd  ha' 
thought  as  Bill  would  ha'  got  hurted  by  such  a  little  un 
as  thou  be'st;  but  coom  in,  he  will  be  main  glad  to  see 
ee,  and  thy  feyther  ha'  been  very  good  in  sending  up  all 
sorts  o'  things  for  him.  He's  been  very  nigh  agooing 
whoam,  but  I  believe  them  things  kept  un  from  it." 

The  cottage  contained  but  two  rooms.  In  a  corner  of 
the  living-room,  into  which  Ned  followed  the  woman, 
Bill  Swinton  lay  upon  a  bed  which  Captain  Sankey  had 
sent  up.  Ned  would  not  have  known  him  again,  and 
could  scarce  believe  that  the  thin,  feeble  figure  was  the 
sturdy,  strong-built  boy  with  whom  he  had  struggled  on 
the  moor.  His  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  he  went  up  to 
the  bedside. 

"I  am  so  sorry!"  he  said;  "I  have  grieved  so  all  the 
time  you  have  been  ill." 

"It's  all  roight,  young  un,"  the  boy  said  in  a  low 
voice,  "thar's  no  call  vor  to  fret.  It  warn't  thy  fault; 
thou  couldn't  not  tell  why  oi  would  not  let  ee  pass,  and 
ye  were  roight  enough  to  foight  rather  than  to  toorn 
back.  I  doan't  blame  ee  nohow,  and  thou  stoodst  up 
well  agin  me.  Oi  doan't  bear  no  malice  vor  a  fair  foight, 
not  loikely.  Thy  feyther  has  been  roight  good  to  oi, 
and  the  things  he  sends  oi  up  has  done  oi  a  power  o' 
good.  Oi  hoap  as  how  they  will  let  oi  eat  afore  long;  oi 
feels  as  if  oi  could  hearty,  but  the  doctor  he  woin't  let 
oi." 

"I  hope  in  a  few  days  he  will  let  you,"  Ned  said,  "and 
then  I  am  sure  father  will  send  you  up  some  nice  things. 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  29 

I  have  brought  you  up  some  of  my  books  for  you  to  look 

at  the  pictures.'* 

The  boy  looked  pleased. 

"Oi  shall  loike  that,"  Bill  said;  "but  oi  shan't  know 
what  they  be  about." 

"But  I  will  come  up  every  Saturday  if  you  will  let  me, 
ani  tell  you  the  stories  all  about  them." 

"Willee  now?    That  will  be  main  koinde  o'  ye." 

"I  don't  think  you  are  strong  enough  to  listen  to-day," 
Ned  said,  seeing  how  feebly  the  boy  spoke;  "but  I  hope 
by  next  Saturday  you  will  be  much  stronger.  And  now 
I  will  say  good-by,  for  the  doctor  said  that  I  must  not 
talk  too  long." 

So  saying  Ned  left  the  cottage  and  made  his  way  back 
to  Marsden  in  better  spirits  than  he  had  been  for  the  last 
three  weeks. 

From  that  time  Ned  went  up  regularly  for  some  weeks 
every  Saturday  to  see  Bill  Swinton,  to  the  great  disgust 
of  his  school-fellows,  who  could  not  imagine  why  he  re- 
fused to  join  in  their  walks  or  games  on  those  days;  but 
he  was  well  repaid  by  the  pleasure  which  his  visits  af- 
forded. The  days  passed  very  drearily  to  the  sick  boy, 
accustomed  as  he  was  to  a  life  spent  entirely  in  the  open 
air,  and  he  looked  forward  with  eager  longing  to  Ned's 
visits. 

On  the  occasion  of  the  second  visit  he  was  strong 
enough  to  sit  up  in  bed,  and  Ned  was  pleased  to  hear 
that  his  voice  was  heartier  and  stronger.  He  listened 
with  delight  as  Ned  read  through  ths  books  he  had 
brought  him  from  end  to  end,  often  stopping  him  to  ask 
questions  as  to  the  many  matters  beyond  his  understand- 
ing, and  the  conversations  on  these  points  were  often  so 
long  that  the  continuance  of  the  reading  had  to  be  post- 
poned until  the  next  visit. 

To  Bill  everything  he  Heard  was  wonderful.    Hitherto 


30  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

his  world  had  ended  at  Marsden,  and  the  accounts  of  voy- 
ages and  travels  in  strange  lands  were  full  of  surprise 
and  interest  to  him.  Especially  he  loved  to  talk  to  Ned 
of  India,  where  the  boy  had  lived  up  to  the  time  when 
his  father  had  received  his  wound,  and  Ned's  account  of 
the  appearance  and  manners  of  the  people  there  were 
even  more  interesting  to  him  than  books. 

At  the  end  of  two  months  after  Ned's  first  visit  Bill 
was  able  to  walk  about  with  a  stick,  and  Ned  now  dis- 
continued his  regular  visits;  but  whenever  he  had  a  Sat- 
urday on  which  there  was  no  particular  engagement  he 
would  go  for  a  chat  with  Bill,  for  a  strong  friendship 
had  now  sprung  up  between  the  lads. 

On  Ned's  side  the  feeling  consisted  partly  of  regret 
for  the  pain  and  injury  he  had  inflicted  upon  his  com- 
panion, partly  in  real  liking  for  the  honesty  and  fearless- 
ness which  marked  the  boy's  character.  On  Bill's  side 
the  feeling  was  one  of  intense  gratitude  for  the  kindness 
and  attention  which  Ned  had  paid  him,  for  his  giving  up 
his  play-hours  to  his  amusement,  and  the  pains  which  he 
had  taken  to  lighten  the  dreary  time  of  his  confinement. 
Added  to  this  there  was  a  deep  admiration  for  the  supe- 
rior knowledge  of  his  friend.  "There  was  nothing,"  ho 
often  said  to  himself,  "as  oi  wouldn't  do  for  that  young 
on." 


THROUGH  THM  ffRAf.  31 


CHAPTER  IIL 

A  CROPPER  VILLAGE. 

BAB  as  were  times  in  Varley,  the  two  public-houses, 
one  of  which  stood  at  either  end  of  the  village,  were  for 
the  most  part  well  filled  of  an  evening;  but  this,  as  the 
landlords  knew  to  their  cost,  was  the  result  rather  of 
habit  than  of  thirst.  The  orders  given  were  few  and  far 
between,  and  the  mugs  stood  empty  on  the  table  for  a 
long  time  before  being  refilled.  In  point  of  numbers 
the  patrons  of  the  "Brown  Cow"  and  the  "Spotted  Dog'* 
were  not  unequal;  but  the  "Dog"  did  a  larger  trade  than 
its  rival,  for  it  was  the  resort  of  the  younger  men,  while 
the  "Cow"  was  the  meeting-place  of  the  elders.  A  man 
who  had  neither  wife  nor  child  to  support  could  manage 
even  in  these  hard  times  to  pay  for  his  quart  or  two  of 
liquor  of  an  evening;  but  a  pint  mug  was  the  utmost 
that  those  who  had  other  mouths  than  their  own  to  fill 
could  afford. 

Fortunately  tobacco,  although  dear  enough  if  pur- 
chased in  the  towns,  cost  comparatively  little  upon  the 
moors,  for  scarce  a  week  passed  but  some  lugger  ran  in 
at  night  to  some  little  bay  among  the  cliffs  on  the  eastern 
shore,  and  for  the  most  part  landed  her  bales  and  kegs 
in  spite  of  the  vigilance  of  the  coast-guard.  So  there 
were  plenty  of  places  scattered  all  over  the  moorland 
where  tobacco  could  be  bought  cheap,  and  where  when 
the  right  signal  was  given  a  noggin  of  spirits  could  be 
had  from  the  keg  which  was  lying  concealed  in  the  wood* 


32  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

stack  or  rubbish  heap.  "What  drunkenness  there  was  on 
the  moors  profited  his  majesty's  excise  but  little. 

The  evenings  at  the  "Cow"  were  not  lively.  The  men 
smoked  their  long  pipes  and  sipped  their  beer  slowly, 
and  sometimes  for  half  an  hour  no  one  spoke;  but  it  waa 
as  good  as  conversation,  for  every  one  knew  what  the 
rest  were  thinking  of — the  bad  times,  but  no  one  had 
anything  new  to  say  about  them.  They  were  not  bril- 
liant, these  sturdy  Yorkshiremen.  They  suffered  pa- 
tiently and  uncomplainingly,  because  they  did  not  see 
that  any  effort  of  theirs  could  alter  the  state  of  things. 
They  accepted  the  fact  that  the  high  prices  were  due  to 
the  war;  but  why  tho  war  was  always  going  on  was  more 
than  any  of  them  knew.  It  gave  them  a  vague  satisfac- 
tion when  they  heard  that  a  British  victory  had  been 
won;  and  when  money  had  been  more  plentiful,  the  oc- 
casion had  been  a  good  excuse  for  an  extra  bout  of 
drinking,  for  most  of  them  were  croppers,  and  had  in 
their  time  been  as  rough  and  as  wild  as  the  younger  men 
were  now;  but  they  had  learned  a  certain  amount  of 
wisdom,  and  shook  their  heads  over  the  talk  and  doings 
of  the  younger  men  who  met  at  the  "Dog." 

Here  there  was  neither  quiet  nor  resignation,  but  fiery 
talk  and  stern  determination;  it  was  a  settled  thing  here 
that  the  machines  were  responsible  for  the  bad  times. 
The  fact  that  such  times  prevailed  over  the  whole  coun- 
try in  no  way  affected  their  opinion.  It  was  not  for 
them  to  deny  that  there  was  a  war,  that  food  was  dear, 
and  taxation  heavy.  These  things  might  be;  but  the 
effect  of  the  machinery  came  straight  home  to  them, 
and  they  were  convinced  that  if  they  did  but  hold  to- 
gether and  wreck  the  machines  prosperity  would  return 
to  "V  ariey. 

The  organization  for  resistance  was  extensive.  There 
were  branches  in  every  village  in  West  Yorkshire,  Lan- 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  Y.  33 

cashire,  Nottingham,  and  Derby — all  acting  with  a  com- 
mon purpose.  The  members  were  bound  by  terrible 
oaths  upon  joining  the  society  to  be  true  to  its  objects, 
to  abstain  on  pain  of  death  from  any  word  which  might 
betray  its  secrets,  and  to  carry  into  execution  its  orders, 
even  if  these  should  involve  the  slaying  of  a  near  relation 
proved  to  have  turned  traitor  to  the  society. 

Hitherto  no  very  marked  success  had  attended  its 
doings.  There  had  been  isolated  riots  in  many  places; 
mills  had  been  burned,  and  machinery  broken.  But  the 
members  looked  forward  to  better  things.  So  far  their 
only  successes  had  been  obtained  by  threats  rather  than 
deeds,  for  many  manufacturers  had  been  deterred  from 
adopting  the  new  machinery  by  the  receipt  of  threatening 
letters  signed  "King  Lud,"  saying  that  their  factories 
would  be  burned  and  themselves  shot  should  they  ven- 
ture upon  altering  their  machinery. 

The  organ  of  communication  between  the  members  of 
the  society  at  Varley  and  those  in  other  villages  was  the 
blacksmith,  or  as  he  preferred  to  be  called,  the  minister, 
John  Stukeley,  who  on  week-days  worked  at  the  forge 
next  door  to  the  "Spotted  Dog,"  and  on  Sundays  held 
services  in  "Little  Bethel" — a  tiny  meeting-house  stand- 
ing back  from  the  road. 

Had  John  Stukeley  been  busier  during  the  week  he 
would  have  had  less  time  to  devote  to  the  cause  of  "King 
Lud;"  but  for  many  hours  a  day  his  fire  was  banked  up, 
for  except  to  make  repairs  in  any  of  the  frames  which 
had  got  out  of  order,  or  to  put  on  a  shoe  which  a  horse 
had  cast  on  his  way  up  the  hill  from  Marsden,  there  was 
but  little  employment  for  him. 

The  man  was  not  a  Yorkshireman  by  birth,  but  came 
from  Liverpool,  and  his  small,  spare  figure  contrasted 
strongly  with  those  of  the  tall,  square-built  Yorkshiremea 
among  whom  he  lived. 


$4  THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  Y. 

He  was  a  good  workman,  but  his  nervous  irritability* 
ids  self-assertion,  and  impatience  of  orders  had  lost  him 
so  many  places  that  he  had  finally  determined  to  become 
his  own  master,  and,  coming  into  a  few  pounds  at  the 
death  of  his  father,  had  wandered  ar/ay  from  the  great 
towns,  until  finding  in  Varley  a  village  without  a  smith, 
he  had  established  himself  there,  and  having  adopted  ths 
grievances  of  the  men  as  his  own,  had  speedily  become  a 
leading  figure  among  them. 

A  short  time  after  his  arrival  the  old  man  who  had 
officiated  at  Little  Bethel  had  died,  and  Stukeley,  who 
had  from  the  first  taken  a  prominent  part  in  the  service, 
and  who  possessed  the  faculty  of  fluent  speech  to  a  de- 
gree rare  among  the  Yorkshiremen,  was  installed  as  his 
successor,  and  soon  filled  Little  Bethel  as  it  had  never 
been  filled  before.  In  his  predecessor's  time,  small  as 
the  meeting-house  was,  it  had  been  comparatively  empty; 
two  or  three  men,  half  a  dozen  women,  and  their  chil- 
dren being  the  only  attendants,  but  it  was  now  filled  to 
crowding. 

Stukeley 's  religion  was  political;  his  prayers  and  dis- 
courses related  to  the  position  of  affairs  in  Varley  rather 
than  to  Christianity.  They  were  a  down-trodden  people1 
whom  he  implored  to  burst  the  bonds  of  their  Egyptian 
taskmasters.  The  strength  he  prayed  for  was  ths 
strength  to  struggle  and  to  fight.  The  enemy  he  de- 
nounced was  the  capitalist  rather  than  the  devil. 

Up  to  that  time  "King  Lud"  had  but  few  followers  in 
Varley;  but  the  fiery  discourses  in  Little  Bethel  roused 
among  the  younger  men  a  passionate  desire  to  right  their 
alleged  wrongs,  and  to  take  vengeance  upon  those  de- 
nounced as  their  oppressors,  so  the  society  recruited  its 
numbers  fast.  Stukeley  was  appointed  the  local  secre- 
tary, partly  because  he  was  the  leading  spirit,  partly 
bocause  he  alone  among  its  members  was  able  to  writ*, 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  35 

and  under  his  vigorous  impulsion  Varley  became  one  of 
the  leading  centers  of  the  organization  in  West  York- 
shire. 

It  was  on  a  Saturday  evening  soon  after  Bill  Swinton 
had  become  convalescent.  The  parlor  of  the  "Brown 
Cow'*  was  filled  with  its  usual  gathering;  a  peat-fire 
glowed  upon  the  hearth,  and  two  tallow-candles  burned 
somewhat  faintly  in  the  dense  smoke.  Mugs  of  beer 
stood  on  the  tables,  but  they  were  seldom  applied  to  the 
lips  of  the  smokers,  for  they  had  to  do  service  without 
being  refilled  through  the  long  evening.  The  silence 
was  broken  only  by  the  short  puffs  at  the  pipes.  All 
were  thinking  over  the  usual  topic,  when  old  Gideon 
Jones  unexpectedly  led  their  ideas  into  another  channel. 

"Give  heern,"  he  said  slowly,  taking  his  pipe  from  his 
mouth,  "as  how  Nance  Wilson's  little  gal  is  wuss." 

"Ay,  indeed!"  "So  oi've  heern;"  "Be  she  now?"  and 
various  other  exclamations  arose  from  the  smokers. 

Gideon  was  pleased  with  the  effect  he  had  produced, 
and  a  few  minutes  later  continued  the  subject. 

"It  be  the  empty  coopbud  more  nor  illness,  I  expect." 

There  was  another  chorus  of  assent,  and  a  still  heartier 
one  when  he  wound  up  the  subject:  "These  be  hard 
toimes  surely." 

Thinking  that  he  had  now  done  sufficient  to  vindicate 
his  standing  as  one  of  the  original  thinkers  of  the  village, 
Gideon  relapsed  into  silence  and  smoked  away  gravely, 
with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  fire,  in  the  post  of  honor  on 
one  side  of  which  was  his  regular  seat.  The  subject, 
however,  was  too  valuable  to  be  allowed  to  drop  alto« 
gether,  and  Luke  Marner  brought  it  into  prominence 
again  by  remarking: 

"They  tell  oi  as  how  Nance  has  asked  Bet  Collins  to 
•  watch  by  the  rood  soide  to  catch  doctor  as  he  droivea 
whoam.  He  went  out  this  arternoon  to  Betlow*" 


9G  THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  7. 

"Oi  doubt  he  woant  do  she  much  good;  it  be  food, 
and  not  doctor's  stuff  as  the  child  needs,"  another 
remaked. 

"That  be  so,  surely,"  went  up  in  a  general  chorus, 
and  then  a  newcomer  who  had  just  entered  the  room, 
said: 

"Oi  ha'  joost  coom  vrom  Nance's  and  Bill  Swinton  ha' 
sent  in  a  basin  o'  soup  as  he  got  vrom  the  feyther  o'  that 
boy  as  broke  his  leg.  Nance  war  a  feeding  the  child  wir 
it,  and  maybe  it  will  do  her  good.  He  ha'  been  moighty 
koind  to  Bill,  that  chap  hav." 

"He  ha*  been  that,"  Gideon  said,  after  the  chorus  01 
approval  had  died  away. 

"Oi  seed  t'  young  un  to-day  a-sitting  in  front  o'  th* 
cottage,  a-talking  and  laughing  wi'  Bill." 

"They  be  good  uns,  feyther  and  son,  though  they  tells 
oi  as  neither  on  them  hain't  Yaarkshire." 

The  general  feeling  among  the  company  was  evidently 
one  of  surprise  that  any  good  thing  should  be  found  out- 
side Yorkshire.  But  further  talk  on  the  subject  was 
interrupted  by  a  slight  exclamation  at  the  door. 

"O  what  a  smoke,  feyther!  I  can't  see  you,  but  I 
suppose  you're  somewhere  here.  You're  wanted  at 
home." 

Altough  the  speaker  was  visible  to  but  few  in  the  room 
there  was  no  doubt  as  to  her  identity,  or  as  to  the  person 
addressed  as  feyther.  Mary  Powlett  was  indeed  the 
niece  and  not  the  daughter  of  Luke  Marner,  but  as  he 
had  brought  her  up  from  childhood  she  looked  upon  him 
as  her  father.  It  was  her  accent  and  the  tone  of  her 
voice  which  rendered  it  unnecessary  for  any  of  those 
present  to  see  her  face. 

Luke  was  a  bachelor  when  the  child  had  arrived  fifteen 
years  before  in  the  carrier's  cart  from  Marsden,  having 
Hade  the  journey  in  a  similar  conveyance  to  that  town 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  7.  3? 

from  Sheffield,  where  her  father  and  mother  had  died 
within  a  week  of  each  other,  the  last  request  of  her 
mother  being  that  little  Polly  should  be  sent  off  to  the 
care  of  Luke  Marner  at  Varley. 

Luke  had  not  then  settled  down  into  the  position  of 
one  of  the  elders  of  the  village,  and  he  had  been  some- 
what embarrassed  by  the  arrival  of  the  three-year-old 
girl.  He  decided  promptly,  however,  upon  quitting  the 
lodgings  which  he  had  as  a  single  man  occupied  and  tak- 
ing a  cottage  by  himself.  His  neighbors  urged  upon 
him  that  so  small  a  child  could  not  remain  alone  all  day 
while  he  was  away  at  Marsden  at  work — a  proposition  to 
which  he  assented;  but  to  the  surprise  of  every  one, 
instead  of  placing  her  during  the  day  under  the  care  of 
one  of  the  women  of  the  place,  he  took  her  down  with 
him  to  Marsden  and  placed  her  under  the  care  of  a  re- 
spectable woman  there  who  had  children  of  her  own. 

Starting  at  five  every  morning  from  his  cottage  with 
Polly  perched  on  his  shoulder  he  tramped  down  to  the 
town,  leaving  her  there  before  going  to  work,  and  calling 
for  her  in  the  evening.  A  year  later  he  married,  and 
the  village  supposed  that  Polly  would  now  be  left  behind. 
But  they  were  mistaken.  When  he  became  engaged  he 
had  said: 

"Now,  Loiza,  there's  one  point  as  oi  wish  settled.  As 
oi  have  told  ye,  oi  ha'  partly  chosen  ye  becos  oi  knowed 
as  how  ye  would  maake  a  good  mother  to  my  little  Polly; 
but  oi  doan't  mean  to  give  up  taking  her  down  with  me 
o'  days  to  the  town.  Oi  likes  to  ha'  her  AVI'  me  on  the 
roade — it  makes  it  shorter  loike.  As  thou  knowest  thy- 
self, oi  ha'  bin  a  chaanged  man  sin  she  coom.  There 
warn't  a  cropper  in  the  village  drank  harder  nor  oi;  but 
oi  maad  oop  moi  moind  when  she  came  to  gi'  it  up,  and, 
oi  have  gi'd  it  up.>¥ 

"I  know,  Luke,"  the  girl  said.     "I  wouldna  have  had. 


38  TSRO  U9B  THE  Fit  A  T. 

ye,  hadn't  ye  doon  so,  as  I  told  ye  two  years  agone.  1 
know  the  child  ha*  done  it,  and  I  loves  her  for  it,  and 
will  be  a  good  mother  to  her." 

"Oi  knows  you  will,  Loiza,  and  oi  bain't  feared  as  ye'll 
be  jealous  if  so  be  as  ye've  children  o'  your  own.  Oi 
shan't  love  'em  a  bit  the  less  coss  oi  loves  little  Polly. 
She  be  just  the  image  o'  what  moi  sister  Jane  was  when 
she  war  a  little  thing  and  oi  used  to  take  care  o'  her. 
Mother  she  didn't  belong  to  this  village,  and  the  rough 
ways  of  the  men  and  the  drink  frightened  her.  She  war 
quiet  and  tidy  and  neat  in  her  ways,  and  Jane  took  arter 
her,  and  glad  she  was  when  the  time  came  to  marry  and 
get  away  from  Varley.  Oi  be  roight  sure  if  she  knows 
owt  what's  going  on  down  here,  she  would  be  glad  to 
know  as  her  child  ain't  bein'  brought  oop  n  Varley  ways. 
I  ha'  arranged  wi'  the  woman  where  she  gets  her  meals 
for  her  to  go  to  school  wi5  her  own  children.  Dost  thee 
object  to  that,  lass? — if  so,  say  so  noo  afore  it's  too  late, 
but  doon't  thraw  it  in  moi  face  arterwards.  Ef  thou'st 
children  they  shalt  go  to  school  too.  Oi  don't  want  to 
do  more  for  Polly  nor  oi'd  do  for  moi  own." 

"I  ha*  no  objection,  Luke.  I  remembers  your  sister. 
how  pretty  and  quiet  she  wor;  and  thou  shalt  do  whai 
you  likest  wi'  Polly,  wi'out  no  grumble  from  me." 

Eliza  Marner  kept  the  promise  she  had  made  before 
marriage  faithfully.  If  she  ever  felt  in  her  heart  any 
jealousy  as  she  saw  Polly  growing  up  a  pretty  bright  little 
maiden,  as  different  to  the  usual  child  product  of  Varley 
as  could  well  be,  she  was  wise  enough  never  to  express 
her  thoughts,  and  behaved  with  motherly  kindness  to 
her  in  the  evening  hours  spent  at  home.  She  would 
perhaps  have  felt  the  task  a  harder  one  had  her  own 
elder  children  been  girls;  but  three  boys  came  first,  and 
a  girl  was  not  born  until  she  had  been  married  eleven 
years.  Polly,  who  was  now  fourteen,  had  just  come 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  89 

home  from  her  schooling  at  Marsden  for  good,  and  was 
about  to  go  out  into  service  there.  But  after  the  birth 
of  her  little  girl  Mrs.  Marner,  who  had  never  for  a  Var- 
ley  girl  been  strong,  faded  rapidly  away;  and  Polly's  stay 
at  home,  intended  at  first  to  last  but  a  few  weeks,  until 
its  mother  was  about  again,  extended  into  months. 

The  failing  woman  reaped  now  the  benefit  of  Polly's 
training.  Her  gentle,  quiet  way,  her  soft  voice,  her  neat- 
ness and  tidiness,  made  her  an  excellent  nurse,  and  she 
devoted  herself  to  cheer  and  brighten  the  sick-room  of 
the  woman  who  had  made  so  kind  an  adopted  mother  to 
her.  Her  influence  kept  even  the  rough  boys  quiet;  and 
all  Varley,  which  had  at  first  been  unanimous  in  its  con- 
demnation of  the  manner  in  which  Luke  Marner  was 
bringing  up  that  "gal"  of  his,  just  as  if  the  place  was 
not  good  enough  for  her,  were  now  forced  to  confess  that 
the  experiment  had  turned  out  well. 

"Polly,  my  dear,"  the  sick  woman  said  to  her  one 
afternoon  when  the  girl  had  been  reading  to  her  for  some 
time,  and  was  now  busy  mending  some  of  the  boys' 
clothes,  while  baby,  nearly  a  year  old,  was  gravely  amus- 
ing herself  with  a  battered  doll  upon  the  floor,  "I  used 
to  think,  though  I  never  said  so,  as  your  feyther  war 
making  a  mistake  in  bringing  you  up  different  to  other 
gals  here;  but  I  see  as  he  was  right.  There  ain't  one  of 
them  as  would  have  been  content  to  give  up  all  their 
time  and  thoughts  to  a  sick  woman  as  thou  hast  done. 
There  ain't  a  house  in  the  village  as  tidy  and  comfortable 
as  this,  and  the  boys  mind  you  as  they  never  minded  me. 
When  I  am  gone  Luke  will  miss  me,  but  thar  won't  be 
no  difference  in  his  comfort,  and  I  know  thou'lt  look 
arter  baby  and  be  a  mother  to  her.  I  don't  suppose  as 
thou  wilt  stay  here  long;  thou  art  over  fifteen  now,  and 
the  lads  will  not  be  long  afore  they  begin  to  come  a-coort- 
ing  of  thee.  But  doan't  ee  marry  in  Varley,  Polly.  My 


40  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

Luke's  been  a  good  husband  to  me.  But  tbou  know'st 
what  the  most  of  them  be — they  may  do  for  Varley-bred 
gals,  but  not  for  the  like  of  thee.  Arid  when  thou  goest 
take  baby  wi'  thee  and  bring  her  up  like  thysel  till  she 
be  old  enough  to  coom  back  and  look  arter  Luke  and  the 
house." 

Polly  was  crying  quietly  while  the  dying  woman  was 
speaking.  The  doctor,  on  leaving  that  morning,  had 
told  her  that  he  could  do  no  more  and  that  Mrs.  Marner 
was  sinking  rapidly.  Kneeling  now  beside  the  bed  she 
promised  to  do  all  that  her  adopted  mother  asked  her, 
adding,  "and  I  shall  never,  never  leave  feyther  as  long 
as  he  lives."  The  woman  smiled  faintly. 

"Many  a  girl  ha'  said  that  afore  now,  Polly,  and  ha* 
changed  her  moind  when  the  roight  man  asked  her. 
Don't  ee  make  any  promises  that  away,  lass.  'Tis  natu- 
ral that,  when  a  lassie's  time  comes,  she  should  wed;  and 
if  Luke  feels  loanly  here,  why  he's  got  it  in  his  power  to 
get  another  to  keep  house  for  him.  He  be  but  a  little 
over  forty  now;  and  as  he  ha'  lived  steady  and  kept  his- 
self  away  from  drink,  he  be  a  yoonger  man  now  nor 
many  a  one  ten  year  yoonger.  Don't  ye  think  to  go  to 
sacrifice  your  loife  to  hissen.  And  now,  child,  read  me 
that  chapter  over  agin,  and  then  I  think  I  could  sleep  a 
bit." 

Before  morning  Eliza  Marner  had  passed  away,  and 
Polly  became  the  head  of  her  uncle's  house.  Two  years 
had  passed,  and  so  far  Mary  Powlett  showed  no  signs  of 
leaving  the  house,  which,  even  the  many  women  in  the 
village,  who  envied  her  for  her  prettiness  and  neatness 
and  disliked  her  for  what  they  called  her  airs,  acknowl- 
edged that  she  managed  well.  But  it  was  not  from  lack 
of  suitors.  There  were  at  least  half  a  dozen  stalwart 
young  croppers  who  would  gladly  have  paid  court  to  her 
had  there  been  the  smallest  sign  on  her  part  of  willing- 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  Y.  41 

ness  to  accept  their  attentions;  but  Polly,  though  bright 
and  cheerful  and  pleasant  to  all,  afforded  to  none  of 
them  an  opportunity  for  anything  approaching  intimacy. 

On  Sundays,  the  times  alone  when  their  occupations 
enabled  the  youth  of  Varley  to  devote  themselves  to  at- 
tentions to  the  maidens  they  favored,  Mary  Powlett  was 
not  to  be  found  at  home  after  breakfast,  for,  having  set 
everything  in  readiness  for  dinner,  she  always  started  for 
Marsden,  taking  little  Susan  with  her,  and  there  spent 
the  day  with  the  woman  who  had  even  more  than  Eliza 
Marner  been  her  mother.  She  had,  a  month  after  his 
wife's  death,  fought  a  battle  with  Luke  and  conquered. 
The  latter  had,  in  pursuance  of  the  plans  he  had  origi- 
nally drawn  up  for  her,  proposed  that  she  should  go  into 
service  at  Marsden. 

"Oi  shall  miss  thee  sorely,  Polly,"  he  said;  "and  oi 
doan't  disguise  it  from  thee,  vor  the  last  year,  lass,  thou 
hast  been  the  light  o'  this  house,  and  oi  couldna  have 
spared  ye.  But  oi  ha'  always  fixed  that  thou  shouldst 
go  into  service  at  Marsden — Varley  is  not  fit  vor  the 
loikes  o'  ye.  We  be  a  rough  lot  here,  and  a  drunken; 
and  though  oi  shall  miss  thee  sorely  for  awhile,  oi  must 
larn  to  do  wi'out  thee." 

Polly  heard  him  in  silenee,  and  then  positively  refused 
to  go.  "You  have  been  all  to  me,  feyther,  since  I  was  a 
child,  and  I  am  not  going  to  leave  you  now.  I  don't  say 
that  Varley  is  altogether  nice,  but  I  shall  be  very  happy 
here  with  you  and  the  boys  and  dear  little  Susan,  and  I 
am  not  going  to  leave,  and  so — there!" 

Luke  knew  well  how  great  would  be  the  void  which 

her  absence  would  make,  but  he  still  struggled  to  carry 

out  his  plans.     "But,  Polly,  oi  should  na  loike  to  see 

thee  marry  here,  and  thy  mother  would  never  ha'  loiked 

*ifc,  °nd  thou  wilt  no  chance  of  seeing  other  men  here." 

"Why,  I  am  only  sixteen,  feyther,  and  we  need  not 


42  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  F. 

talk  of  my  marriage  for  years  and  years  yet,  and  I  prom- 
ise you  I  shan't  think  of  marrying  in  Varley  when  the 
time  comes;  but  there  is  one  thing  I  should  like,  and 
that  is  to  spend  Sundays,  say  once  a  fortnight,  down 
with  Mrs.  Mason;  they  were  so  quiet  and  still  there,  and 
I  did  like  so  much  going  to  the  church;  and  I  hate  that 
Little  Bethel,  especially  since  that  horrible  man  came 
there;  he  is  a  disgrace,  feyther,  and  you  will  see  that 
mischief  will  come  out  of  his  talk." 

"Oi  don't  like  him  myself,  Polly,  and  maybe  me  and 
the  boys  will  sometoimes  oome  down  to  the  church  thou 
art  so  fond  of.  However,  if  thou  wilt  agree  to  go  down 
every  Sunday  to  Mrs.  Mason,  thou  shalt  stay  here  for  a 
bit  till  oi  see  what  can  best  be  done." 

And  so  it  was  settled,  and  Polly  went  off  every  Sunday 
morning,  and  Luke  went  down  of  an  evening  to  fetch 
her  back. 

"Well,  what  is't,  lass?"  he  asked  as  he  joined  her  out- 
side the  "Brown  Cow." 

"George  has  scalded  his  leg  badly,  feyther.  I  was 
just  putting  Susan  to  bed,  and  he  took  the  kettle  off  the 
fire  to  pour  some  water  in  the  teapot,  when  Dick  pushed 
him,  or  something,  and  the  boiling  water  went  over  his 

leg." 
"Oi'll  give  that  Dick  a  hiding,"  Luke  said  wrathfully 

as  he  hastened  along  by  her  side.  "Why  didn't  ye  send 
him  here  to  tell  me  instead  of  cooming  thyself?" 

"It  was  only  an  accident,  feyther,  and  Dick  was  so 
frightened  when  he  saw  what  had  happened  and  heard 
George  cry  out  that  he  ran  out  at  once.  I  have  put  some 
flour  on  George's  leg;  but  I  think  the  doctor  ought  to 
see  him,  that's  why  I  came  for  you." 

"It's  no  use  moi  goaing  voor  him  now,  lass,  he  be  ex- 
pected along  here  every  minute.  Jack  Wilson,  he  be  on 
the  lookout  by  the  roadside  vor  to  stop  him  to  ask  him 


THROUGH  THE  FBA7.  43 

to  see  Nance,  who  be  taken  main  bad.  I  will  see  him 
and  ask  him  to  send  doctor  to  oor  house  when  he  comes, 
and  tell  Jarge  I  will  be  oop  in  a  minute." 

Upon  the  doctor's  arrival  he  pronounced  the  scald  to 
be  a  serious  one,  and  Dick,  who  had  been  found  sobbing 
outside  the  cottage,  and  had  been  cuffed  by  his  father, 
was  sent  down  with  the  doctor  into  the  town  to  bring  up 
some  lint  to  envelop  the  leg.  The  doctor  had  already 
paid  his  visit  to  Nance  Wilson,  and  had  rated  her  father 
soundly  for  not  procuring  better  food  for  her. 

"It's  all  nonsense  your  saying  the  times  are  bad,"  he 
said  in  reply  to  the  man's  excuses.  "I  know  the  times 
are  bad;  but  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  half  your 
wages  go  to  the  public-house;  your  family  are  starving 
while  you  are  squandering  money  in  drink.  That  child 
is  sinking  from  pure  want  of  food,  and  I  doubt  if  she 
would  not  be  gone  now  if  it  hadn't  have  been  for  that 
soup  your  wife  tells  me  Bill  Swinton  sent  in  to  her.  I 
tell  you,  if  she  dies  you  will  be  as  much  her  murderer  as 
if  you  had  chopped  her  down  with  a  hatchet." 

The  plain  speaking  of  the  doctor  was  the  terror  of  his 
parish  patients,  who  nevertheless  respected  him  for  the 
honest  truths  he  told  them.  He  himself  used  to  say  that 
his  plain  speaking  saved  him  a  world  of  trouble,  for  that 
his  patients  took  good  care  never  to  send  for  him  except 
when  he  was  really  wanted. 

The  next  day  Mary  Powlett  was  unable  to  go  off  as 
usual  to  Marsden  as  George  was  in  great  pain  from  his 
ecald.  She  went  down  to  church,  however,  in  the  even- 
ing with  her  father,  Bill  Swinton  taking  her  place  by  the 
bedside  of  the  boy. 

"Thou  hast  been  a-sitting  by  moi  bedside  hours  every 
day,  Polly,"  he  said,  "and  it's  moi  turn  now  to  take  thy 
place  here.  Jack  ha'  brought  over  all  moi  books,  for  oi 
couldn't  inaake  a  shift  to  carry  them  and  use  moi  crutches, 


44  THROUGH  THE  FRAY. 

and  oi'll  explain  all  the  pictures  to  Jarge  jest  as  Maistel 
Ned  explained  'era  to  oi." 

The  sight  of  the  pictures  reconciled  George  to  Polly's 
departure,  and  seeing  the  lad  was  amused  and  comforta- 
ble, she  started  with  Luke,  Dick  taking  his  place  near 
the  bed,  where  he  could  also  enjoy  a  look  at  the  pictures. 

"Did  you  notice  that  pretty  girl  with  the  sweet  voice 
in  the  aisle  in  a  line  with  us,  father,"  Ned  asked  that 
evening,  "with  a  great,  strong,  quiet-looking  man  by  the 
side  of  her?" 

"Yes,  lad,  the  sweetness  of  her  singing  attracted  my 
attention,  and  I  thought  what  a  bright,  pretty  face  it 
was!" 

"That's  Mary  Powlett  and  her  uncle.  You  have  heard 
me  speak  of  her  as  the  girl  who  was  so  kind  in  nursing 
Bill." 

"Indeed,  Ned!  I  should  scarcely  have  expected  to 
find  so  quiet  and  tidy-looking  a  girl  at  Varley,  still  less 
to  meet  her  with  a  male  relation  in  church." 

"She  lives  at  Varley,  but  she  can  hardly  be  called  a 
Varley  girl,"  Ned  said.  "Bill  was  telling  me  about  her. 
Her  uncle  had  her  brought  up  down  here.  She  used  to 
go  back  to  sleep  at  night,  but  otherwise  all  her  time  was 
spent  here.  It  seems  her  mother  never  liked  the  place, 
and  married  away  from  it,  and  when  she  and  her  hus- 
band died  and  the  child  came  back  to  live  with  her  uncle 
he  seemed  to  think  he  would  be  best  carrying  out  hia 
dead  sister's  wishes  by  having  her  brought  up  in  a  differ- 
ent way  to  the  girls  at  Varley.  He  has  lost  his  wife  now, 
and  she  keeps  house  for  him,  and  Bill  says  all  the  young 
men  in  Varley  are  mad  about  her,  but  she  won't  have 
anything  to  say  to  them." 

"She  is  right  enough  there,"  Caj)tain  Sankey  said 
smilingly.  "They  are  mostly  croppers,  and  rightly  or 
wrongly — rightly,  I  am  afraid — they  have  the  reputatioo 


THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  f .  45 

of  being  the  most  drunken  and  quarrelsome  lot  in  York- 
shire.  Do  you  know  the  story  that  is  current  among  the 
country  people  here  about  them?" 

"No,  father,  what  is  it?" 

"Well,  they  say  that  no  cropper  is  in  the  place  of  pun- 
ishment. It  was  crowded  with  them  at  one  time,  hut 
they  were  so  noisy  and  troublesome  that  his  infernal 
majesty  was  driven  to  his  wits'  end  by  their  disputes. 
He  offered  to  let  them  all  go.  They  refused.  So  ona 
day  he  struck  upon  a  plan  to  get  rid  of  them.  Going 
outside  the  gates  he  shouted  at  the  top  of  his  voice, 
'Beer,  beer,  who  wants  beer?'  every  cropper  in  the  place 
rushed  out,  and  he  then  slipped  in  again  and  shut  the 
gates,  and  has  taken  good  care  ever  since  never  to  admit 
a  cropper  into  his  territory." 

Ned  laughed  at  the  story.  "It  shows  at  any  rate, 
father,  what  people  think  of  them  here;  but  I  don't 
think  they  are  as  bad  as  that,  though  Bill  did  say  that 
there  are  awful  fights  and  rows  going  on  there  of  an 
evening,  and  even  down  here  if  there  is  a  row  there  is 
sure  to  be  a  cropper  in  it.  Still  you  see  there  are  some 
good  ones;  look  at  Luke  Marner,  that's  the  man  we  saw 
in  church,  see  how  kind  he  has  been  to  his  niece." 

"There  are  good  men  of  all  sorts,  and  though  the 
croppers  may  be  rough  and  given  to  drink,  we  must  not 
blame  them  too  severely;  they  are  wholly  uneducated 
men,  they  work  hard,  and  their  sole  pleasure  is  in  the 
beer-shop.  At  bottom  they  are  no  doubt  the  same  as  the 
rest  of  their  countrymen,  and  the  Yorkshire  men,  though 
a  hard-headed,  are  a  soft-hearted  race  ;  the  doctor  tells 
me  that  except  that  their  constitutions  are  ruined  by 
habitual  drinking  he  has  no  better  patients;  they  bear 
pain  unflinchingly,  and  are  patient  and  even-tempered. 
1 1  know  he  loves  them  with  all  their  faults,  and  I  consider 
him  to  be  a  good  judge  of  character." 


3SROU&3  THE  FHAT. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    WORMS    TURN. 

"I  SAY,  it's  a  shame,  a  beastly  shame!"  Ned  Sankey 
exclaimed  passionately  as  the  boys  came  out  from  school 
one  day. 

Generally  they  poured  out  in  a  confused  mass,  eager 
for  the  fresh  air  and  anxious  to  forget  in  play  the  re- 
membrance of  the  painful  hours  in  school;  but  to-day 
they  came  out  slowly  and  quietly,  each  with  a  book  in 
his  hand,  for  they  had  tasks  set  them  which  would  oc- 
cupy every  moment  till  the  bell  sounded  again. 

"Every  one  says  they  know  nothing  about  the  cat.  I 
don't  know  whether  it's  true  or  not,  for  I  am  sorry  to 
say  some  of  the  fellows  will  tell  lies  to  escape  the  cane, 
but  whether  it  is  so  or  not  he's  no  right  to  punish  us  all 
for  what  can  only  be  the  fault  of  one  or  two." 

That  morning  the  cat,  which  was  the  pet  of  Mr.  Ha- 
thorn  and  his  wife,  had  been  found  dead  near  the  door 
of  the  schoolhouse.  It  had  been  most  brutally  knocked 
about.  One  of  its  eyes  had  been  destroyed,  its  soft  fur 
was  matted  with  blood,  and  it  had  evidently  been  beaten 
to  death.  That  the  cat  was  no  favorite  with  the  boys 
was  certain.  The  door  between  the  schoolroom  and  the 
house  was  unfastened  at  night,  and  the  cat,  in  her  pur- 
suit of  mice  not  unfrequently  knocked  over  inkstands, 
and  the  ink,  penetrating  into  the  desks,  stained  books 
and  papers,  and  more  than  one  boy  had  been  caned  se- 
verely for  damage  due  to  the  night  prowlings  of  the  cat. 


THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  T.  47 

Threats  of  vengeance  against  her  had  often  been  ut- 
tered, and  when  the  cat  was  found  dead  it  was  the  general 
opinion  in  the  school  that  one  or  other  of  their  comrades 
had  carried  out  his  threats,  but  no  suspicion  fell  upon 
any  one  in  particular.  The  boys  who  were  most  likely 
to  have  done  such  a  thing  declared  their  innocence 
stoutly.  Mr.  Hathorn  had  no  doubt  on  the  subject. 
The  cane  had  been  going  all  the  morning,  and  he  had 
told  them  that  extra  tasks  would  be  given  which  would 
occupy  all  their  playtime  until  the  offender  was  given  up 
to  judgment. 

In  point  of  fact  the  boys  were  altogether  innocent  of 
the  deed.  Pussy  was  a  noted  marauder,  and  having  been 
caught  the  evening  before  in  a  larder,  from  which  she 
had  more  than  once  stolen  tit-bits,  she  had  been  attacked 
by  an  enraged  cook  with  a  broomstick,  and  blows  had 
been  showered  upon  her  until  the  woman,  believing  that 
life  was  extinct,  had  thrown  her  outside  into  the  road; 
but  the  cat  was  not  quite  dead,  and  had,  after  a  time, 
revived  sufficiently  to  drag  her  way  home,  only,  however, 
to  die. 

"I  call  it  a  shame!"  Ned  repeated.  "Mind,  I  say  it's 
a  brutal  thing  to  ill-treat  a  cat  like  that.  If  she  did 
knock  down  inkstands  and  get  fellows  into  rows  it  was 
not  her  fault.  It's  natural  cats  should  run  after  mice, 
and  the  wainscoting  of  the  schoolroom  swarmed  with 
them.  One  can  hear  them  chasing  each  other  about  and 
squeaking  all  day.  If  I  knew  any  of  the  fellows  had 
killed  the  cat  I  should  go  straight  to  Hathorn  and  tell 
him. 

"You  might  call  it  sneaking  if  you  like,  but  I  would 
do  it,  for  I  hate  such  brutal  cruelty.  I  don't  see  how  it 
could  have  been  any  of  the  fellows,  for  they  would  have 
had  to  get  out  of  the  bedroom  and  into  it  again;  besides, 
I  don't  see  how  they  could  have  caught  the  cat  if  the/ 


4$f  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

did  get  out;  but  whether  it  was  one  of  the  fellows  or  not 
makes  no  difference.  I  say  it's  injustice  to  punish  every 
one  for  the  fault  of  one  or  two  fellows. 

"I  suppose  he  thinks  that  in  time  we  shall  give  up  the 
names  of  the  fellows  who  did  it.  As  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned, it  will  be  just  the  other  way.  If  I  had  known 
who  had  done  it  this  morning,  when  he  accused  us,  I 
should  have  got  up  and  said  so,  because  I  think  fellows 
who  treat  dumb  animals  like  that  are  brutes  that  ought 
to  be  punished,  but  I  certainly  would  not  sneak  because 
Hathorn  punished  me  unjustly.  I  vote  we  all  refuse  to 
do  the  work  he  has  set  us." 

This  bold  proposition  was  received  with  blank  aston- 
ishment. 

"But  he  would  thrash  us  all  fearfully,"  Tompkins 
said. 

"He  daren't  if  we  only  stuck  together.  Why,  he 
wouldn't  have  a  chance  with  us  if  we  showed  fight.  If 
we  were  to  say  to  him,  'We  won't  do  these  extra  tasks, 
and  if  you  touch  one  of  us  the  whole  lot  will  pitch  into 
you,'  what  could  he  do  then?" 

"I  will  tell  you  what  he  could  do,  Sankey,"  Tom 
Koom,  a  quiet,  sensible  boy,  replied.  "If  we  were  in  a 
desert  island  it  would  be  all  well  enough,  he  could  not 
tyrannize  over  us  then;  but  here  it  is  different.  He 
would  just  put  on  his  hat  and  go  into  the  town,  and  in 
ten  minutes  he  would  be  back  again  with  the  six  consta- 
bles, and  if  that  wasn't  enough  he  could  get  plenty  of 
other  men,  and  where  would  our  fighting  be  then?  We 
should  all  get  the  most  tremendous  licking  we  have  ever 
had,  and  get  laughed  at  besides  through  the  tov/n  for  a 
pack  of  young  fools." 

Ned  broke  into  a  good-tempered  laugh. 

"Of  course  you  are  right,  Room.  I  only  thought 
About  Hathorn  himself.  Still,  it  is  horribly  unfair.  I 


THRO  UGH  THE  PRA  7.  49 

will  do  it  to-day.  But  if  he  goes  on  with  it,  as  he 
threatens,  I  won't  do  it,  let  him  do  what  he  likes." 

For  some  days  this  state  of  things  continued.  There 
was  no  longer  any  sound  of  shouting  and  laughter  in  the 
playground.  The  boys  walked  about  moody  and  sullen, 
working  at  their  lessons.  They  were  fast  becoming  des- 
perate. No  clue  had  been  obtained  as  to  the  destroyer 
of  the  cat,  and  the  schoolmaster  declared  that  if  it  took 
him  months  to  break  their  spirits  he  would  do  it.  Ned 
Sankey  had  said  nothing  at  home  as  to  his  troubles.  His 
father  noticed  that  he  ran  off  again  as  soon  as  his  dinner  was 
over,  and  that  he  no  longer  said  anything  as  to  the  sports 
in  which  he  was  engaged  in  playtime;  also,  that  his  les- 
sons occupied  him  from  tea-time  until  he  went  up  to  bed. 

"Anything  is  better  than  this,'*  Ned  said  one  day  to 
some  of  the  boys  of  his  own  age.  "In  my  opinion  it's 
better  to  have  a  regular  row.  What  Eoom  said  was  quite 
true;  we  shall  get  the  worst  of  it;  but  the  story  will  then 
come  out,  and  it  will  be  seen  what  a  beastly  tyranny  we 
have  been  undergoing.  I  tell  you,  I  for  one  will  not 
stand  it  any  longer,  so  here  goes,"  and  he  threw  his  book 
up  into  a  tree,  in  whose  branches  it  securely  lodged. 

His  comrades  followed  his  example,  and  the  news  that 
Sankey  and  some  of  the  other  fellows  were  determined 
to  put  up  with  it  no  longer  soon  spread,  and  in  five  min- 
utes not  a  book  was  to  be  seen  in  the  playground.  The 
spirit  of  resistance  became  strong  and  general,  and  when 
the  bell  rang  the  boys  walked  into  the  schoolroom  silent 
and  determined,  but  looking  far  less  moody  and  downcast 
than  usual.  Mr.  Hathorn  took  his  seat  at  his  desk. 

"The  first  class  will  come  up  and  say  their  tasks." 

Not  a  boy  moved  in  his  seat. 

"The  first  class  will  come  up  and  say  their  tasks,"  the 
master  repeated,  bringing  his  cane  down  with  angry  em- 
phasis on  the  desk. 


60  THRO  UQH  THE  FMA  Y. 

Still  no  one  moved. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  he  shouted,  rising  from  his 
seat. 

"It  means,  sir,"  Ned  Sankey  said,  rising  also,  "that 
we  are  determined,  all  of  us,  that  we  will  learn  no  more 
extra  tasks.  None  of  us,  so  far  as  we  know,  ever  touched 
your  cat,  and  we  are  not  going  to  submit  to  be  punished 
any  longer  for  a  fault  which  none  of  us  have  committed." 

"No,  no,"  rose  in  a  general  chorus  through  the  school- 
room, "we  will  do  no  more  tasks." 

Mr.  feathorn  stood  petrified  with  astonishment  and 
white  with  anger. 

"So  you  are  at  the  bottom  of  this,  Sankey.  I  will 
make  an  example  of  you." 

So  saying,  he  took  a  stride  forward  toward  Ned.  In 
an  instant  a  shower  of  books  flew  at  him  from  all  parts  of 
the  room.  Infuriated  by  the  attack,  he  rushed  forward 
with  his  cane  raised.  Ned  caught  up  a  heavy  inkstand. 

"If  you  touch  me,"  he  shouted,  "I  will  fling  this  at 
your  head." 

Mr.  Hathorn  hesitated.  The  shower  of  books  had  not 
affected  him,  but  the  heavy  missile  in  Ned's  hand  was  a 
serious  weapon.  In  another  moment  he  sprang  forward 
and  brought  his  cane  down  with  all  his  force  npon  Ned's 
back. 

Ned  at  once  hurled  the  heavy  inkstand  at  him.  The 
schoolmaster  sprang  on  one  side,  but  it  struck  him  on 
the  shoulder,  and  he  staggered  back. 

"You  have  broken  my  shoulder,  you  young  scoundrel!" 
he  exclaimed. 

"I  shouldn't  care  if  I  had  broken  your  head,"  Ned  re- 
torted, white  with  passion;  "it  would  have  served  you 
right  if  I  had  killed  you,  you  tyrant. " 

"One  of  you  go  and  fetch  a  constable,"  Mr.  Hathorn 
to  the  boys. 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  F.  51 

"Let  him  send  his  servant.  He  will  find  me  at  home. 
Mr.  Hathorn,  I  am  not  going  to  run  away,  you  need  not 
think  it.  Give  me  in  charge  if  you  dare;  I  don't  cara 
what  they  do  to  me,  but  the  whole  country  shall  know 
what  a  tyrant  you  are." 

So  saying,  he  collected  his  books,  put  his  cap  on  his 
head,  and  walked  from  the  schoolroom,  the  boys  cheer- 
ing him  loudly  as  he  went.  On  reaching  home  he  went 
at  once  to  his  father's  study. 

"I  am  sorry  to  say,  sir,  that  there  has  been  a  row  in 
the  school,  and  Hathorn  has  threatened  to  send  a  consta- 
ble here  after  me  for  throwing  an  inkstand  at  him." 

"Throwing  an  inkstand!"  Captain  Sankey  exclaimed. 
"Is  it  possible?" 

"It  is  quite  possible  and  quite  true;  he"has  been  treat- 
ing us  shamefully  for  the  last  ten  days;  he  has  been 
always  a  cruel  brute  all  along,  though  I  never  wanted  to 
make  a  fuss  about  it,  but  it  has  been  getting  worse  and 
worse.  Ten  days  ago  some  one  killed  his  cat,  and  I  am 
almost  sure  it  was  none  of  the  boys,  but  he  chose  to  be- 
lieve it  was,  and  because  he  couldn't  find  out  who,  he  haa 
punished  the  whole  school,  and  all  our  play  hours  have 
been  taken  up  with  lessons  ever  since,  and  he  said  he 
would  keep  on  so  till  he  found  out  who  did  it,  if  it  was 
months. 

"So  at  last  we  could  not  stand  it  any  longer,  and  we 
all  agreed  that  we  wouldn't  do  the  extra  tasks,  and  that 
we  would  stick  together  when  we  told  him  so.  He  rushed 
at  me  with  his  cane,  and  gave  me  one  with  all  his  might, 
and  I  threw  an  inkstand  at  him,  and  it  caught  him  on 
the  shoulder,  and  he  says  it  has  broken  it,  and  that  he 
would  send  for  a  constable.  So  I  told  him  to  do  so  if  he 
dared,  and  here  I  am." 

*    "This  is  a  very  serious  business,  Ned,"  his  father  said 
gravely.    "In  the  first  place,  tnere  is  something  lika  a 


53  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

rebellion  in  the  school,  of  which,  I  suppose,  you  wer« 
one  of  the  leaders  or  he  would  not  have  singled  you  out. 
In  the  second  place,  you  threw  a  missile  at  him,  which 
has  broken  his  shoulder,  and  might  have  killed  him  had 
it  struck  him  on  the  head.  I  have  warned  you,  my  boy, 
over  and  over  again  against  giving  way  to  that  passionate 
temper  of  yours,  and  have  told  you  that  it  would  lead 
you  into  serious  trouble." 

"I  can't  help  it,  sir,"  Ned  said  doggedly.  "I've  put 
up  with  a  tremendous  lot  there,  and  have  said  nothing 
about  it,  because  I  did  not  wish  to  give  you  trouble;  but 
when  it  came  to  downright  tyranny  like  this  I  would 
rather  be  killed  than  put  up  with  it.  I  warned  him  fairly 
that  if  he  struck  me  I  would  throw  the  inkstand  at  him, 
and  he  brought  it  on  himself." 

Captain  Sankey  seeing  that  in  his  son's  present  state 
of  mind  talking  would  be  useless  to  him,  ordered  him  to 
remain  in  his  study  till  his  return,  and  putting  on  his 
hat  went  toward  the  school.  Ned's  temper  had  always 
been  a  source  of  anxiety  to  him.  The  boy  was,  no  doubt, 
of  a  passionate  nature,  but  had  he  had  the  advantage  of 
a  proper  supervision  and  care  when  he  was  a  child  the 
tendency  might  have  been  overcome.  Unfortunately  this 
had  not  been  the  case.  His  mother  had  left  the  children 
entirely  to  the  care  of  ayahs,  he  himself  had  been  far  too 
occupied  with  his  regimental  duties  to  be  able  to  super- 
intend their  training,  while  Abijah's  hands  had  been  too 
full  with  the  management  of  the  house,  which  entirely 
devolved  upon  her,  and  with  the  constant  attention  de- 
manded by  Mrs.  Sankey,  to  give  them  any  close  superin- 
tendence. Thus  like  most  children  born  in  India  and 
left  entirely  in  the  charge  of  colored  nurses,  Ned  had  ac- 
quired the  habit  of  giving  way  to  bursts  of  ungovernable 
passion;  for  the  black  nurses  have  no  authority  over  their 
young  charges,  unless  seconded  and  supported  by  the 


THRO  UGH  THE  FBA  T.  53 

firmness  of  their  mothers.  In  this  case  no  such  support 
had  been  forthcoming. 

Mrs.  Sankey  hated  being  troubled,  and  the  ayahs 
always  found  that  any  complaints  to  her  recoiled  upon 
themselves,  for  she  always  took  the  part  of  her  children, 
and  insisted  that  the  fault  lay  on  the  side  of  the  nurses 
and  not  on  them.  The  natural  result  was,  that  the 
ayahs  ceased  to  trouble  her,  and  found  it  easier  to  allow 
the  children  to  do  as  they  chose,  and  to  give  way  quietly 
to  Ned's  outbursts  of  passion. 

Captain  Sankey  knew  nothing  of  all  this.  Ned  was 
very  fond  of  him,  and  was  always  bright  and  good-tem- 
pered when  with  his  father,  and  it  was  not  until  he  left 
India  and  was  thrown  more  with  him  that  Captain  Sankey 
discovered  how  grievously  Ned's  disposition,  which  was 
in  other  respects  a  fine  one,  was  marred  by  the  habit 
which  had  been  encouraged  by  indulgence  and  want  of 
control.  Then  he  set  to  work  earnestly  to  remedy  the 
mischief,  but  the  growth  of  years  is  hard  to  eradicate, 
and  although  under  the  influence  of  the  affection  for  his 
father  and  his  own  good  sense  Ned  had  so  far  conquered 
himself  that  his  fits  of  passion  were  few  and  far  between, 
the  evil  still  existed,  and  might  yet,  as  his  father  felt, 
lead  to  consequences  which  would  mar  his  whole  life. 

Thinking  the  matter  sadly  over,  Captain  Sankey  was 
proceeding  toward  the  school  when  he  met  oue  of  the 
constables.  The  man  touched  his  hat  and  stopped. 

"This  be  a  moighty  oonpleasant  business,  captain,"  he 
said;  "your  boy,  he  ha'  been  and  battered  schoolmaister; 
and  t'  doctor  gays  he  ha'  broke  his  collar-bone.  Oi  ha* 
got  to  take  him  afore  t'  magistrate." 

"Very  well,  Harper,"  Captain  Sankey  said  quietly; 

"of  course  you  must  do  your  duty.     It  is  a  sad  business, 

«.  and  I  was  on  my  way  to  the  school  to  see  if  the  matter 

could  not  be  arranged;  however,  as  it  has  been  put  in 


54  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  Y. 

your  hands  it  is  now  too  late,  and  things  must  take  their 
course;  the  magistrates  are  not  sitting  to-day.  I  will 
guarantee  that  my  son  shall  be  present  at  the  sitting  om 
Thursday,  I  suppose  that  will  be  sufficient?'* 

"Yes,  oi  supposes  if  you  promises  to  produce  him,  that 
nil  do,"  the  constable  said.  "Oi  doan't  suppose  as 
nought  will  come  o't;  these  schoolmaister  chaps  does 
thrash  t'  boys  cruel,  and  oi  ain't  surprised  as  t'  little 
chaps  roises  ag'in  it  soometoimes.  T'others  all  seem 
moighty  glad  o"  it:  oi  heard  'em  shouting  and  cheering 
in  t'  yard  as  if  they  was  all  mad." 

Captain  Sankey  shook  his  head.  "I'm  afraid  the 
magistrates  won't  see  it  in  that  light,  Harper;  discipline 
is  discipline.  However,  we  must  hope  for  the  best." 

The  story  that  there  had  been  a  rebellion  among  the 
boys  at  Hathorn's,  that  the  schoolmaster  had  his  shoulder 
broken,  and  that  Captain  Sankey's  son  was  to  go  before 
the  magistrates,  spread  rapidly  through  Marsden,  and 
the  courthouse  was  crowded  at  the  sitting  of  the  magis- 
trates on  Thursday. 

There  were  two  magistrates  on  the  bench,  Mr.  Thomp- 
son the  local  banker,  and  Squire  Simmonds  of  Lathorpe 
Hall,  three  miles  from  the  town.  Several  minor  cases 
were  first  disposed  of,  and  then  Ned's  name  was  called. 
Captain  Sankey  had  been  accommodated  with  a  seat  near 
the  magistrates,  with  both  of  whom  he  had  some  personal 
acquaintance.  Ned  was  sitting  by  the  side  of  the  lawyer 
whom  his  father  had  retained  to  defend  him;  he  now 
moved  quietly  into  the  dock,  while  Mr.  Hathorn,  with 
his  arm  in  a  sling,  took  his  place  in  the  witness-box. 

Ned  had  recovered  now  from  his  fit  of  passion,  and 
looked  amused  rather  than  concerned  as  the  schoolmaster 
gave  his  evidence  as  to  the  fray  in  the  schoolroom. 

"I  have  a  few  questions  to  ask  you,  Mr.  Hathorn," 
Mr.  Wakefield,  Ned's  lawyer,  said.  "Had  you  any  reason 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  55 

for  expeeting  any  outbreak  of  this  kind  among  your 
boys?" 

"None  whatever,"  Mr.  Hathorn  said. 

"You  use  the  cane  pretty  freely,  I  believe,  sir." 

"I  use  it  when  it  is  necessary,"  Mr.  Hathorn  replied. 

"Ah!  and  how  often  do  you  consider  it  necessary?" 

"That  must  depend  upon  circumstances." 

"You  have  about  thirty  boys,  I  think?" 

"About  thirty." 

"And  you  consider  it  necessary  that  at  least  fifteen 
out  of  that  thirty  should  be  caned  every  day.  You  must 
have  got  a  very  bad  lot  of  boys,  Mr.  Hathorn?" 

"Not  so  many  as  that,"  the  schoolmaster  said,  flushing. 

"I  shall  be  prepared  to  prove  to  your  worships,"  the 
lawyer  said,  "that  for  the  last  six  months  the  average  of 
boys  severely  caned  by  this  man  has  exceeded  sixteen  a 
day,  putting  aside  such  minor  matters  as  one,  two,  or 
three  vicious  cuts  with  the  cane  given  at  random.  It 
fortunately  happened,  as  I  find  from  my  young  friend  in 
the  dock,  that  one  of  the  boys  has,  from  motives  of  curi- 
osity, kept  an  account  for  the  last  six  months  of  the 
number  of  boys  thrashed  every  day.  I  have  sent  round 
for  him,  and  he  is  at  present  in  court." 

Mr.  Hathorn  turned  pale,  and  he  began  to  think  that 
it  would  have  been  wiser  for  him  to  have  followed  Ned's 
advice,  and  not  to  have  brought  the  matter  into  court. 

"Your  worships,"  the  lawyer  said,  "you  have  been 
boys,  as  I  have,  and  you  can  form  your  own  ideas  as  to 
the  wretchedness  that  must  prevail  among  a  body  of  lads 
of  whom  more  than  half  are  caned  daily.  This,  your 
worships,  is  a  state  of  tyranny  which  might  well  drive 
any  boys  to  desperation.  But  I  have  not  done  with  Mr. 
Hathorn  yet. 

•     "During  the  ten  days  previous  to  this  affair  things  were 
even  more  unpleasant  than  usual  in  your  establishment, 


56  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  7. 

were  they  not,  sir?  I  understand  that  the  whole  of  the 
boys  were  deprived  of  all  play  whatever,  and  that  every 
minute  was  occupied  by  extra  tasks,  and  moreover  the 
prospect  was  held  out  to  them  that  this  sort  of  thing 
would  continue  for  months.'* 

There  had  already  been  several  demonstrations  of  feel- 
ing in  court,  but  at  this  statement  by  the  lawyer  there 
was  a  general  hiss.  The  schoolmaster  hesitated  before 
replying. 

"Now,  Mr.  Hathorn,"  the  lawyer  said  briskly,  "we 
want  neither  hesitation  nor  equivocation.  We  may  aa 
well  have  it  from  you,  because  if  you  don't  like  telling 
the  truth  I  can  put  the  thirty  miserable  lads  under  your 
charge  into  the  box  one  after  the  other." 

"They  have  had  extra  tasks  to  do  during  their  play- 
time," Mr.  Hathorn  said,  "because  they  refused  to  reveal 
which  among  them  brutally  murdered  my  cat." 

"And  how  do  you  know  they  murdered  your  cat?" 

"I  am  sure  they  did,"  the  schoolmaster  said  shortly. 

"Oh!  you  are  sure  they  did!  And  why  are  you  so 
sure?  Had  they  any  grudge  against  yoar  cat?" 

"They  pretended  they  had  a  grudge." 

"What  for,  Mr.  Hathorn?" 

"They  used  to  accuse  her  of  upsetting  the  ink-bottles 
Then  they  did  it  themselves." 

"You  did  not  believe  their  statements,  I  suppose?" 

"Not  at  all." 

"You  caned  them  just  the  same  as  if  they  had  done  it 
themselves.  At  least  I  am  told  so." 

"Of  course  I  caned  them,  especially  as  I  knew  that 
they  were  telling  a  lie." 

"But  if  it  was  a  lie,  Mr.  Hathorn,  if  this  cat  did  not 
upset  their  ink,  why  on  earth  should  these  boys  have  a 
grudge  against  her  and  murder  her?" 

The  schoolmaster  was  siient. 


THRO  UGH  TBS  FRA  7.  67 

"Now  I  want  an  answer,  sir.  You  are  punishing  thirty 
boys  in  addition  to  the  sixteen  daily  canings  divided 
among  them;  you  have  cut  off  all  their  play-time,  and 
kept  them  at  work  from  the  time  they  rise  to  the  time 
they  go  to  bed.  As  you  see,  according  to  your  own 
statement,  they  could  have  had  no  grudge  against  the 
cat,  how  are  you  sure  they  murdered  her?" 

"I  am  quite  sure,"  Mr.  Hathorn  said  doggedly. 
"Boys  have  always  a  spite  against  cats." 

"Now,  your  honors,  you  hear  this,"  Mr.  Wakefield 
said.  "Now  I  am  about  to  place  in  the  witness-box  a 
very  respectable  woman,  one  Jane  Tytler,  who  is  cook  to 
our  esteemed  fellow-townsman,  Mr.  Samuel  Hawkins, 
whose  residence  is,  as  you  know,  not  far  from  this  school. 
She  will  tell  you  that,  having  for  some  time  been  plagued 
by  a  thieving  cat  which  was  in  the  habit  of  getting  into 
her  larder  and  carrying  off  portions  of  food,  she,  finding 
it  one  day  there  in  the  act  of  stealing  a  half-chicken,  fell 
upon  it  with  a  broomstick  and  killed  it,  or  as  she  thought 
killed  it,  and  I  imagine  most  cooks  would  have  acted  the 
same  under  the  circumstances. 

"She  thought  no  more  about  it  until  she  heard  the 
reports  in  the  town  about  this  business  at  the  school, 
and  then  she  told  her  master.  The  dates  have  been 
compared,  and  it  is  found  that  she  battered  this  cat  on 
the  evening  before  the  Hathorn  cat  was  found  dead  in 
the  yard.  Furthermore,  the  cat  she  battered  was  a 
white  cat  with  a  black  spot  on  one  side,  and  this  is  the 
exact  description  of  the  Hathorn  cat;  therefore,  your 
honors,  you  will  see  that  the  assumption,  or  pretense,  or 
excuse,  call  it  what  you  will,  by  which  this  man  justifies 
his  tyrannical  treatment  of  these  unfortunate  boys  has 
no  base  or  foundation  whatever.  You  can  go  now,  Mr. 
Hathorn;  I  have  nothing  further  to  say  to  you." 

A  loud  hiss  ro?o  again  from  the  crowded  court  as  tha 


58  THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  T. 

schoolmastei  stepped  down  from  the  witness-box,  and 
Jane  Tytler  took  his  place.  After  giving  her  evidence 
she  was  succeeded  by  Dick  Tompkins  in  much  trepida- 
tion. Dick  was  a  most  unwilling  witness,  but  he  pro- 
duced the  notebook  in  which  he  had  daily^  jotted  down 
the  number  of  boys  caned,  and  swore  to  the  general  ac- 
juracy  of  the  figures. 

Mr.  Wakefield  then  asked  the  magistrates  if  they  would 
Hke  to  hear  any  further  witnesses  as  to  the  state  of  things 
in  ihe  schoolroom.  They  said  that  what  they  had  heard 
was  quite  sufficient.  He  then  addressed  them  on  the 
merits  of  the  case,  pointing  out  that  although  in  this 
case  one  of  the  parties  was  a  master  and  the  other  a  pupil 
this  ik  no  way  removed  it  in  the  eye  of  the  law  from  the 
category  of  other  assaults.  "In  this  case,"  he  said, 
"your  worships,  the  affair  has  arisen  out  of  a  long  course 
of  tyranny  and  provocation  on  the  part  of  one  of  the 
parties,  and  you  will  observe  that  this  is  the  party  who 
first  commits  the  assault,  while  my  client  was  acting 
solely  in  self-defense. 

"It  is  he  who  ought  to  stand  in  the  witness-box,  and 
the  complainaLit  in  the  dock,  for  he  is  at  once  the  ag- 
gressor and  the  assailant.  The  law  admits  any  man  who 
is  assaulted  to  defend  himself,  and  there  is,  so  far  as  I 
am  aware,  no  enactment  whatever  to  be  found  in  the 
statute-book  placing  boys  in  a  different  category  to 
grown-up  persons.  When  your  worships  have  discharged 
my  client,  as  I  have  no  doubt  you  will  do  at  once,  I  shall 
advise  him  to  apply  for  a  summons  for  assault  against 
this  man  Hathorn." 

The  magistrates  consulted  together  for  some  time, 
then  the  squire,  who  was  the  senior,  said: 

"We  are  of  opinion  that  Master  Sankey,  by  aiding  this 
rebellion  against  his  master,  has  done  wrongly,  and  that 
he  erred  grievously  in  discharging  a  heavy  missile  at  hia 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T  59 

master;  at  the  same  time  we  think  that  the  provocation 
that  he  received  by  the  tyranny  which  has  been  proved 
to  have  been  exercised  by  Mr.  Hathorn  toward  the  boys 
under  his  charge,  and  especially  by  their  unjust  punish- 
ment for  an  offense  which  the  complainant  conceived 
without  sufficient  warrant,  or  indeed  without  any  war- 
rant at  all,  that  they  had  committed,  to  a  great  extent 
justifies  and  excuses  the  conduct  of  Master  Sankey. 
Therefore,  with  a  reprimand  as  to  his  behavior,  and  a 
caution  as  to  the  consequences  which  might  have  arisen 
from  his  allowing  his  temper  to  go  beyond  bounds,  we 
discharge  him. 

"As  to  you,  sir,"  he  said  to  the  schoolmaster,  "we 
wish  to  express  our  opinion  that  your  conduct  has  been 
cruel  and  tyrannical  in  the  extreme,  and  we  pity  the  un- 
fortunate boys  who  are  under  the  care  of  a  man  who 
treats  them  with  such  cruel  harshness  as  you  are  proved 
to  have  done." 

The  magistrates  now  rose,  and  the  court  broke  up. 
Many  of  those  present  crowded  round  Ned  and  shook  his 
hand,  congratulating  him  on  the  issue;  but  at  a  sign 
from  his  father  the  boy  drew  himself  away  from  them, 
and  joining  Captain  Sankey,  walked  home  with  him. 

"The  matter  has  ended  better  than  I  expected,  Ned," 
he  said  gravely;  "but  pray,  my  boy,  do  not  let  yourself 
think  that  there  is  any  reason  for  triumph.  You  have 
been  gravely  reprimanded,  and  had  the  missile  you  used 
struck  the  schoolmaster  on  the  head,  you  would  now  bs 
in  prison  awaiting  your  trial  for  a  far  graver  offense,  and 
that  before  judges  who  would  not  make  the  allowances 
for  you  that  the  magistrates  here  have  done.  "Beware 
of  your  temper,  Ned,  for  unless  you  overcome  it,  be 
assured  that  sooner  or  later  it  may  lead  to  terrible 
consequences." 

;  who  had  in  fact  been  inclined  to  feel  triumph 


60  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  7. 

ant  over  his  success,  was  sobered  by  his  father's  grave 
words  and  manner;  and  resolved  that  he  would  try  hard 
to  conquer  his  fault;  but  evil  habits  are  hard  to  over- 
come, and  the  full  force  of  his  father's  words  was  still  to 
come  home  to  him. 

He  did  not,  of  course,  return  to  Mr.  Hathorn's,  and 
indeed  the  disclosures  of  the  master's  severity  made  at 
the  examination  before  the  magistrates  obtained  such 
publicity  that  several  of  his  pupils  were  removed  at  once, 
and  notices  were  given  that  so  many  more  would  not  re- 
turn after  the  next  holidays  that  no  one  was  surprised  to 
hear  that  the  schoolmaster  had  arranged  with  a  successor 
in  the  school,  and  that  he  himself  was  about  to  go  to 
America. 

The  result  was  that  after  the  holidays  his  successor 
took  his  place,  and  many  of  the  fathers  who  had  intended 
to  remove  their  sons  decided  to  give  the  newcomer  a 
trial.  The  school  opened  with  nearly  the  original  num- 
ber of  pupils.  Ned  was  one  of  those  who  went  back. 
Captain  Sankey  had  called  on  the  new  master,  and  had 
told  him  frankly  the  circumstances  of  the  fracas  between 
Ned  and  Mr.  Hathorn. 

"I  will  try  your  son  at  any  rate,  Mr.  Sankey,"  the 
master  said.  "I  have  a  strong  opinion  that  boys  can  be 
managed  without  such  use  of  the  cane  as  is  generally 
adopted;  that,  in  my  opinion,  should  be  the  last  resort. 
Boys  are  like  other  people,  and  will  do  more  for  kindness 
than  for  blows.  By  what  you  tell  me,  the  circumstances 
of  your  son's  bringing  up  in  India  among  native  servants 
have  encouraged  the  growth  of  a  passionate  temper,  but 
I  trust  that  we  may  be  able  to  overcome  that;  at  any 
rate  I  will  give  him  a  trial."  And  so  it  was  settled  that 
Ned  should  return  to  Porson's,  for  so  the  establishment 
was  henceforth  to  be  known. 


TEE  FRAY. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  NEW  MASTER. 

IT  was  with  much  excitement  and  interest  that  the 
boys  gathered  in  their  places  for  the  first  time  under  the 
new  master.  The  boarders  had  not  seen  him  upon  their 
arrival  on  the  previous  evening,  but  had  been  received 
by  an  old  housekeeper,  who  told  them  Mr.  Person  would 
not  return  until  the  coach  came  in  from  York  that  night. 

All  eyes  were  turned  to  the  door  as  the  master  entered. 
The  first  impression  was  that  he  was  a  younger  man  than 
they  had  expected.  Mr.  Hathorn  had  been  some  forty- 
five  years  old;  the  newcomer  was  not  over  thirty.  He 
was  a  tall,  loosely  made  man,  with  somewhat  stooping 
shoulders;  he  had  heavy  eyebrows,  gray  eyes,  and  a  firm 
mouth.  He  did  not  look  round  as  he  walked  straight  to 
his  desk;  then  he  turned,  and  his  eyes  traveled  quietly 
and  steadily  round  the  room  as  if  scanning  each  of  the 
faces  directed  toward  him. 

"Now,  boys,"  he  said  in  a  quiet  voice,  "a  few  words 
before  we  begin.  I  am  here  to  teach,  and  you  are  here 
to  learn.  As  your  master  I  expect  prompt  obedience. 
I  shall  look  to  see  each  of  you  do  your  best  to  acquire 
the  knowledge  which  your  parents  have  sent  you  here  to 
obtain.  Above  all,  I  shall  expect  that  every  boy  here 
will  be  straightforward,  honorable,  and  truthful.  I  shall 
not  expect  to  find  that  all  are  capable  of  making  equal 
progreis;  there  are  clever  boys  and  stupid  boys,  just  aa 


63  THROUGH  THE  FEAT. 

there  are  clever  men  and  stupid  men,  and  it  would  be> 
unjust  to  expect  that  one  can  keep  up  to  the  other;  but 
I  do  look  to  each  doing  his  best  according  to  his  ability. 
On  my  part  I  shall  do  my  best  to  advance  you  in  your 
studies,  to  correct  your  faults,  and  to  make  useful  men 
of  you. 

"One  word  as  to  punishments.  I  do  not  believe  that 
knowledge  is  to  be  thrashed  into  boys,  or  that  fear  is  the 
best  teacher.  I  shall  expect  you  to  learn,  partly  because 
you  feel  that  as  your  parents  have  paid  for  you  to  learn 
it  is  your  duty  to  learn,  partly  because  you  wish  to  please 
me.  I  hope  that  the  cane  will  seldom  be  used  in  this 
school.  It  will  be  used  if  any  boy  tells  me  a  lie,  if  any 
boy  does  anything  which  is  mean  and  dishonorable,  if 
any  boy  is  obstinately  idle,  and  when  it  is  used  it  will  be 
used  to  a  purpose,  but  I  trust  that  the  occasion  for  it 
will  be  rare. 

"I  shall  treat  you  as  friends  whom  it  is  my  duty  to  in- 
struct. You  will  treat  me,  I  hope,  as  a  friend  whose 
duty  it  is  to  instruct  you,  and  who  has  a  warm  interest 
in  your  welfare;  if  we  really  bear  these  relations  to  each 
other  there  should  be  seldom  any  occasion  for  punish- 
ment. And  now  as  a  beginning  to-day,  boys,  let  each 
come  up  to  my  desk,  one  at  a  time,  with  his  books.  I 
shall  examine  you  separately,  and  see  what  each  knows 
and  is  capable  of  doing.  I  see  by  the  report  here  that  there 
are  six  boys  in  the  first  class.  As  these  will  occupy  me 
all  the  morning  the  rest  can  go  into  the  playground. 
The  second  class  will  be  taken  this  afternoon." 

The  boys  had  listened  with  astonished  silence  to  this 
address,  and  so  completely  taken  aback  were  they  that 
all  save  those  ordered  to  remain  rose  from  their  seats  and 
went  out  in  a  quiet  and  orderly  way,  very  different  from 
the  wild  rush  which  generally  terminated  school-time. 

Ned  being  in  the  second  class  was  one  of  those  who 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  F.  63 

went  out.  Instead  of  scattering  into  groups,  the  boys 
gathered  in  a  body  outside. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that,  Sankey ?"  Tompkins  said. 
"It  seems  almost  too  good  to  be  true.  Only  fancy,  no 
more  thrashing  except  for  lying  and  things  of  that  sort, 
and  treating  us  like  friends!  and  he  talked  as  if  he  meant 
it  too." 

"That  he  did,"  Ned  said  gravely;  "and  I  tell  you, 
fellows,  we  shall  have  to  work  now,  and  no  mistake.  A 
fellow  who  will  not  work  for  such  a  man  as  that  deserves 
to  be  skinned." 

"I  expect,"  said  James  Mathers,  who  was  one  of  the 
biggest  boys  in  the  school  though  still  in  the  third  class, 
"that  it's  all  gammon,  just  to  give  himself  a  good  name, 
and  to  do  away  with  the  bad  repute  the  school  has  got 
into  for  Hathorn's  flogging.  You  will  see  how  long  it 
will  last!  I  ain't  going  to  swallow  all  that  soft  soap." 

Ned,  who  had  been  much  touched  at  the  master's  ad- 
dress, at  once  fired  up: 

"Oh!  we  all  know  how  clever  you  are,  Mathers — quite 
a  shining  genius,  one  of  the  sort  who  can  see  through  a 
stone  wall.  If  you  say  it's  gammon,  of  course  it  must 
be  so." 

There  was  a  laugh  among  the  boys. 

"I  will  punch  your  head  if  you  don't  shut  up,  Sankey," 
Mathers  said  angrily;  "there's  no  ink-bottle  for  you  to 
shy  here." 

Ned  turned  very  white,  but  he  checked  himself  with 
an  effort. 

"I  don't  want  to  fight  to-day — it's  the  first  day  of  the 
half-year,  and  after  such  a  speoch  as  we've  heard  I  don't 
want  to  have  a  row  on  this  first  morning.  But  you  had 
better  look  out;  another  time  you  won't  find  me  so  pa- 
*tient.  Punch  my  head,  indeed!  Why,  you  daren't  try 
it." 


64  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  P. 

But  Mathers  would  have  tried  it,  for  he  had  for  the 
last  year  been  regarded  as  the  cock  of  the  school.  How- 
ever, several  of  the  boys  interfered. 

"Sankey  is  right,  Mathers;  it  would  be  a  beastly  shame 
to  be  fighting  this  morning.  After  what  Person  said 
there  oughtn't  to  be  any  rows  to-day.  We  shall  soon  see 
whether  he  means  it.'* 

Mathers  suffered  himself  to  be  dissuaded  from  carrying 
his  threat  into  execution,  the  rather  that  in  his  heart  of 
hearts  he  was  not  assured  that  the  course  would  have 
been  a  wise  one.  Ned  had  never  fought  in  the  school, 
but  Tompkins'  account  of  his  fight  on  the  moor  with  Bill 
Swinton,  and  the  courage  he  had  shown  in  taking  upon 
himself  the  office  of  spokesman  in  the  rebellion  against 
Hathorn,  had  given  him  a  very  high  reputation  among 
the  boys;  and  in  spite  of  Mather's  greater  age  and  weight 
there  were  many  who  thought  that  Ned  Sankey  would 
make  a  tough  fight  of  it  with  the  cock  of  the  school. 

So  the  gathering  broke  up  and  the  boys  set  to  at  their 
games,  which  were  played  with  a  heartiness  and  zest  all. 
the  greater  that  none  of  them  were  in  pain  from  recent 
punishments,  and  that  they  could  look  forward  to  the 
afternoon  without  fear  and  trembling. 

When  at  twelve  o'clock  the  boys  of  the  first  class  came 
out  from  school  the  others  crowded  round  to  hear  the 
result  of  the  morning's  lessons.  They  looked  bright  and 
pleased. 

"I  think  he  is  going  to  turn  out  a  brick,"  Ripon,  the 
head  of  the  first  class,  said.  "Of  course  one  can't  tell 
yet.  He  was  very  quiet  with  us  and  had  a  regular  exam- 
ination of  each  of  us.  I  don't  think  he  was  at  all  satis- 
fied, though  we  all  did  our  best,  but  there  was  no  shout- 
ing or  scolding.  We  are  to  go  in  again  this  afternoon 
with  the  rest.  He  says  there's  something  which  he  for- 
got to  mention  to  us  this  morning." 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  K  65 

"More  speeches!"  Mathers  grumbled.  "I  hate  all  this 
jaw." 

"Yes,"  Eipon  said  sharply;  "a  cane  is  the  thing  which 
suits  your  understanding  best.  Well,  perhaps  he  will 
indulge  you;  obstinate  idleness  is  one  of  the  things  he 
mentioned  in  the  address." 

When  afternoon  school  began  Mr.  Person  again  rose. 

"There  is  one  thing  I  forgot  to  mention  this  morning. 
I  understand  that  you  have  hitherto  passed  your  play- 
time entirely  in  the  playground,  except  on  Saturday 
afternoons,  when  you  have  been  allowed  to  go  where  you 
like  between  dinner  and  tea-time.  With  the  latter  regu- 
lation I  do  not  intend  to  interfere,  or  at  any  rate  I  shall 
not  do  so  so  long  as  I  see  that  no  bad  effects  come  of  it; 
but  I  shall  do  so  only  with  this  proviso,  I  do  not  think  it 
good  for  you  to  be  going  about  the  town.  I  shall  there- 
fore put  Marsden  out  of  bounds.  You  will  be  free  to 
ramble  where  you  like  in  the  country,  but  any  boy  who 
enters  the  town  will  be  severely  punished.  I  am  not  yet 
sufficiently  acquainted  with  the  neighborhood  to  draw 
the  exact  line  beyond  which  you  are  not  to  go,  but  I 
shall  do  so  as  soon  as  I  have  ascertained  the  boundaries 
of  the  town. 

"I  understand  that  you  look  forward  to  Saturday  for 
making  such  purchases  as  you  require.  Therefore  each 
Saturday  four  boys,  selected  by  yourselves,  one  from  each 
class,  will  be  allowed  to  go  into  the  town  to  make  pur- 
chases for  the  rest,  but  they  are  not  to  be  absent  more 
than  an  hour. 

"In  the  second  place,  I  do  not  think  that  the  playground 
affords  a  sufficient  space  for  exercise,  and  being  graveled, 
it  is  unsuitable  for  many  games.  Therefore  I  have  hired 
a  field,  which  I  dare  say  you  all  know;  it  is  called  'The 
Four-acre  Field,'  about  a  hundred  yards  down  the  road 
on  the  left-hand  side.  This  you  will  use  as  your  play- 


66  THRO  UQE  THE  FRA  T. 

ground  during  the  six  summer  months.  I  have  brought 
with  me  from  York  a  box  which  I  shall  place  under  the 
charge  of  Eipon  and  the  two  next  senior  to  him.  It 
contains  bats,  wickets,  and  a  ball  for  cricket;  a  set  of 
quoits;  trap-bat  and  ball  for  the  younger  boys;  leaping- 
bars  and  some  other  things.  These  will  give  you  a  start. 
As  they  become  used-up  or  broken  they  must  be  replaced 
by  yourselves;  and  I  hope  you  will  obtain  plenty  of  en- 
joyment from  them.  I  shall  come  and  play  a  game  of 
cricket  with  you  myself  sometimes. 

"You  will  bear  in  mind  that  it  is  my  wish  that  you 
should  be  happy.  I  expect  you  to  work  hard,  but  I  wish 
you  to  play  hard  too.  Unless  the  body  works  the  brain 
will  suffer,  and  a  happy  and  contented  boy  will  learn  as 
easily  again  as  a  discontented  and  miserable  one.  I  will 
give  you  the  box  after  tea,  so  that  you  can  all  examine 
them  together.  The  second  and  third  classes  will  now  stay 
in;  the  fourth  class  can  go  out  in  the  playground  with 
the  first.  I  shall  have  time  to  examine  them  while  the 
others  are  doing  their  work  to-morrow." 

There  was  a  suppressed  cheer  among  the  boys  and 
Ripon,  as  the  senior,  said: 

"I  am  sure,  sir,  we  are  all  very  much  obliged  to  you 
for  your  kindness,  and  we  will  do  our  best  to  deserve  it." 

There  was  a  chorus  of  assent,  and  then  the  elder  and 
younger  boys  went  out  into  the  playground  while  the 
work  of  examination  of  the  second  and  third  classes 
began. 

On  the  following  day  lessons  began  in  earnest,  and  the 
boys  found  their  first  impressions  of  the  new  master  more 
than  justified.  A  new  era  had  commenced.  The  sound 
of  the  cane  was  no  longer  heard,  and  yet  the  lessons  were 
far  better  done  than  had  been  the  case  before.  Then 
the  whole  work  had  fallen  on  the  boys;  the  principal 
part  of  the  day's  lessons  had  been  the  repeating  of  tasks 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  Y.  07 

learned  by  heart,  and  the  master  simply  heard  them  and 
punished  the  boys  who  were  not  perfect. 

There  was  comparatively  little  of  this  mechanical  work 
now;  it  was  the  sense  and  not  the  wording  which  had  to 
be  mastered.  Thus  geography  was  studied  from  an  atlas 
and  not  by  the  mere  parrot-like  learning  of  the  names  of 
towns  and  rivers.  In  grammar  the  boys  had  to  show 
that  they  understood  a  rule  by  citing  examples  other 
than  those  given  in  their  books.  History  was  rather  a 
lecture  from  the  master  than  a  repetition  of  dry  facts 
and  dates  by  the  boys.  Latin  and  mathematics  were 
made  clear  in  a  similar  way.  "It  was  almost  too  good  to 
last,"  the  boys  said  after  the  first  day's  experience  of  this 
new  method  of  teaching;  but  it  did  last.  A  considerable 
portion  of  the  work  out  of  school  was  devoted  to  the 
keeping  up  the  facts  they  had  learned,  for  Mr.  Person 
was  constantly  going  back  and  seeing  that  their  memo- 
ries retained  the  facts  they  had  acquired,  and  what  they 
called  examinations  were  a  part  of  the  daily  routine. 

In  some  points  upon  which  Mr.  Hathorn  had  laid  the 
greatest  stress  Mr.  Person  was  indifferent — dates,  which 
had  been  the  bane  of  many  a  boy's  life  and  an  unceasing 
source  of  punishment,  he  regarded  but  little,  insisting 
only  that  the  general  period  should  be  known,  and  his 
questions  generally  took  the  form  of,  "In  the  beginning 
or  at  the  end  of  such  and  such  a  century,  what  was  the 
state  of  things  in  England  or  in  Rome?"  A  few  dates 
of  special  events,  the  landmarks  of  history,  were  required 
to  be  learned  accurately,  all  others  were  passed  over  as 
unimportant. 

It  was  not  that  the  boys  worked  fewer  hours  than  be«- 
fore,  but  that  they  worked  more  intelligently,  and  there- 
fore more  pleasantly  to  themselves.  The  boys — and  there 
were  some — who  imagined  that  under  this  new  method 
of  teaching  they  could  be  idle,  very  soon  found  out  their 


68  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  7. 

mistake,  and  discovered  that  in  his  way  Mr.  Person  was 
just  as  strict  as  his  predecessor.  He  never  lost  his  tem- 
per; but  his  cold  displeasure  was  harder  to  bear  than 
Mr.  Hathorn's  wrath;  nor  were  punishments  wanting. 
Although  the  cane  was  idle,  those  who  would  not  work 
were  kept  in  the  the  schoolroom  during  play  hours;  and 
in  cases  where  this  was  found  to  be  ineffectual  Mr. 
Porson  coldly  said: 

"Your  parents  pay  me  to  teach  you,  and  if  you  do  not 
choose  to  be  taught  I  have  only  to  write  home  to  them 
and  request  them  to  take  you  away.  If  you  are  one  of 
those  boys  who  will  only  learn  from  fear  of  the  cane  you 
had  better  go  to  some  school  where  the  cane  is  used." 

This  threat,  which  would  have  been  ineffective  in  Mr. 
Hathorn's  time,  never  failed  to  have  an  effect  now;  for 
even  Mather,  the  idlest  and  worst  boy  there,  was  able  to 
appreciate  the  difference  between  the  present  regime  and 
the  last.  In  a  marvelously  short  time  Mr.  Porson  seemed 
to  have  gauged  the  abilities  of  each  of  the  boys,  and 
while  he  expected  much  from  those  who  were  able  to 
master  easily  their  tasks,  he  was  content  with  less  from 
the  duller  intellects,  providing  they  had  done  their  best. 
After  a  week's  experience  of  Mr.  Porson,  Ned  gave  so 
glowing  an  account  to  his  father  of  the  new  master  and 
his  methods  that  Captain  Sankey  went  down  to  the  school 
and  arranged  that  Charlie,  now  ten  years  old,  should  ac- 
company his  brother.  There  were  several  boys  no  older 
than  he;  but  Charlie  differed  widely  from  his  elder 
brother,  being  a  timid  and  delicate  child,  and  ill-fitted 
to  take  care  of  himself.  Captain  Sankey  felt,  however, 
after  what  Ned  had  told  him  of  Mr.  Porson,  that  he 
aould  trust  to  him  during  the  school  hours,  and  Ned 
would  be  an  active  protector  in  the  playground. 

It  was  not  until  a  fortnight  after  the  school  began 
that  the  Four-acre  Field  was  ready.  By  that  time  a 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  69 

flock  of  sheep  had  been  turned  into  it,  and  had  eaten 
the  grass  smooth,  and  a  heavy  horse-roller  had  been  at 
work  for  a  day  making  a  level  pitch  in  the  center.  It 
was  a  Saturday  afternoon  when  the  boys  took  possession 
of  it  for  the  first  time.  As  they  were  about  to  start  in 
the  highest  glee,  Mr.  Person  joined  them.  Some  of 
their  faces  fell  a  little;  but  he  said  cheerfully: 

"Now,  boys,  I  am  going  with  you;  but  not,  you  know, 
to  look  after  you  or  keep  you  in  order.  I  want  you  all 
to  enjoy  yourselves  just  in  your  own  way,  and  I  mean  to 
enjoy  myself  too.  I  have  been  a  pretty  good  cricketer 
in  my  time,  and  played  in  the  York  Eleven  against  Leeds, 
so  I  may  be  able  to  coach  you  up  a  little,  and  I  hope 
after  a  bit  we  may  be  able  to  challenge  some  of  the  vil- 
lage elevens  round  here.  I  am  afraid  Marsden  will  be 
too  good  for  us  for  some  time;  still,  we  shall  see." 

On  reaching  the  Held  Mr.  Person  saw  the  ground 
measured  and  the  wickets  erected,  and  then  said: 

"Now  I  propose  we  begin  with  a  match.  There  are 
enough  of  us  to  make  more  than  two  elevens;  but  there 
are  the  other  games.  Would  any  of  the  bigger  boys  like 
to  play  quoits  better  than  cricket?" 

Mather,  who  felt  much  aggrieved  at  the  master's  pres- 
ence, said  he  should  prefer  quoits;  and  Williamson,  who 
always  followed  his  lead,  agreed  to  play  with  him. 

"Now,"  Mr.  Person  said,  "do  you,  Eipon,  choose  an 
eleven.  I  will  take  the  ten  next  best.  The  little  one* 
who  are  over  can  play  at  trap-bat,  or  bowls,  as  they 
like."  There  was  a  general  approval  of  the  plan.  Kipon 
chose  an  eleven  of  the  likeliest  boys,  selecting  the  biggest 
and  most  active;  for  as  there  had  been  no  room  for  cricket 
in  the  yard  their  aptitude  for  the  game  was  a  matter  of 
guess-work,  though  most  of  them  had  played  during  the 
holidays.  Mr.  Person  chose  the  next  ten,  and  after  toss- 
ing for  innings,  which  Ripon  won,  they  set  to  work.  Mr. 


70  THRO  UGH  TEE  FRA  F. 

Person  played  for  a  time  as  long-stop,  putting  on  two  of 
the  strongest  of  his  team  as  bowlers,  and  changing  them 
from  time  to  time  to  test  their  capacity.  None  of  them 
turned  out  brilliant,  and  the  run0,  came  fast,  and  the 
wickets  were  taken  were  few  and  far  between,  until  at 
last  Mr.  Porson  himself  took  the  ball. 

"I  am  not  going  to  bow!  fast,"  he  said,  "just  straight 
easy  lobs;'*  but  the  boys  found  that  the  straight  lobs 
were  not  so  easy  after  all,  and  the  wickets  of  the  boys 
who  had  made  a  long  score  soon  fell.  Most  of  those  who 
followed  managed  to  make  a  few  runs  as  well  off  Mr. 
Person's  bowling  as  from  that  at  the  other  end;  for  the 
master  did  not  wish  to  discourage  them,  and  for  a  few 
overs  after  each  batsman  came  to  the  wicket  aimed  well 
off  it  so  as  to  give  them  a  chance  of  scoring. 

The  last  wicket  fell  for  the  respectable  score  of  fifty- 
four.  The  junior  eleven  then  went  in,  the  master  not 
going  in  until  the  last.  Only  twenty  runs  had  been  made 
when  hs  took  the  bat.  In  the  five  balls  of  the  over  which 
were  bowled  to  him  he  made  three  fours;  but  before  it 
came  to  his  turn  again  his  partner  at  the  other  end  was 
out,  and  his  side  were  twenty-two  behind  on  the  first 
innings.  The  other  side  scored  thirty-three  for  the  first 
four  wickets  before  he  again  took  the  ball,  and  the  re- 
maining six  went  down  for  twelve  runs.  His  own  party 
implored  him  to  go  in  first,  but  he  refused. 

"No,  no,  boys,"  he  said;  "you  must  win  the  match,  if 
you  can,  without  much  aid  from  me." 

The  juniors  made  a  better  defense  this  time  and  scored 
forty  before  the  ninth  wicket  fell.  Then  Mr.  Porson 
went  in  and  ran  the  score  up  to  sixty  before  his  partner 
was  out,  the  seniors  winning  the  match  by  nine  runs. 
Both  sides  were  highly  pleased  with  the  result  of  the 
match.  The  seniors  had  won  after  a  close  game.  The 
juniors  were  well  pleased  to  have  run  their  elders  so  hard. 


3  II  rU  K  FRA  F.  71 

They  a!I  gathered  round  their  master  and  thanked  him 
warmly. 

"I  am  glad  you  are  pleased,  my  boys/'  he  said;  "I 
will  come  down  two  or  three  times  a  week  and  bowl  to 
you  for  an  hour,  and  give  you  a  few  hints,  and  you  will 
find  that  you  get  on  fast.  There  is  plenty  of  promise 
among  you,  and  I  prophesy  that  we  shall  turn  out  a  fair 
eleven  by  the  end  of  the  season." 

The  younger  boy1  had  also  enjoyed  themselves  greatly, 
and  had  been  joined  by  many  of  the  elders  while  waiting 
for  their  turn  to  go  in.  Altogether  the  opening  day  of 
she  Four-acre  Field  had  been  ^  great  success. 

The  old  cake-woman  who  had  previously  supplied  the 
boys  still  came  once  a  week,  her  usual  time  being  Wed- 
nesday evening,  when,  after  tea,  the  boys  played  for  half 
an  hour  in  the  yard  before  going  in  to  their  usual  lessons. 
Ned  was  not  usually  present,  but  he  one  evening  went 
back  to  fetch  a  book  which  he  needed.  As  he  came  in 
at  the  gate  of  the  yard  Mather  was  speaking  to  the 
woman. 

"No,  I  won't  let  you  have  any  more,  Master  Mather. 
You  have  broken  your  promises  to  me  over  and  over 
again.  That  money  you  owed  me  last  half  ain't  been  paid 
yet.  If  it  had  only  been  the  money  for  the  cakes  and 
sweets  I  shouldn't  ha'  minded  so  much,  but  it's  that  ten 
shillings  you  borrowed  and  promised  me  solemn  you  would 
pay  at  the  end  of  the  week  and  ain't  never  paid  yet.  I 
have  got  to  make  up  my  rent,  and  I  tell  ye  if  I  don't  get 
the  money  by  Saturday  I  shall  speak  to  t'  maister  about 
it  and  see  what  he  says  to  such  goings  on." 

"Don't  talk  so  loud,"  Mather  said  hurriedly,  "and  I 
•yill  get  you  the  money  as  soon  as  I  can." 

"I  don't  care  who  hears  me,"  the  woman  replied  in  a 
still  louder  voice,  "and  as  soon  as  you  can  won't  do  for  I. 
I  have  got  to  have  it  on  Saturday,  so  that's  flat.  I  will 


72  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  F. 

come  up  to  the  field,  and  you'll  best  have  it  ready  for 
me." 

Ned  did  not  hear  the  last  few  words,  but  he  had  heard 
enough  to  know  that  Mather  owed  ten  shillings  which 
he  had  borrowed,  besides  a  bill  for  cakes.  Mather  had 
not  noticed  ,him  come  into  the  yard,  for  his  back  was 
toward  the  gate,  and  the  noise  which  the  boys  made  run- 
ning about  and  shouting  prevented  him  hearing  the  gate 
open  and  close. 

"It's  a  beastly  shame,"  Ned  muttered  to  himself  as  he 
went  off  to  school,  "to  borrow  money  from  an  old  woman 
like  that.  Mather  must  have  known  he  couldn't  pay  it, 
for  he  has  only  a  small  allowance,  and  he  is  always  short 
of  money,  and  of  course  he  could  not  expect  a  tip  before 
the  holidays.  He  might  have  paid  her  when  he  came 
back,  but  as  he  didn't  I  don't  see  how  he  is  to  do  so  now, 
and  if  the  old  woman  tells  Porson  there  will  be  a  row. 
It's  just  the  sort  of  thing  would  rile  him  most." 

On  the  next  Saturday  he  watched  with  some  curiosity 
the  entry  of  the  old  woman  into  the  field.  Several  of 
the  boys  went  up  and  bought  sweets.  When  she  was 
standing  alone  Mather  strolled  up  to  her.  After  a  word 
or  two  he  handed  her  something.  She  took  it,  and  said 
a  few  words.  Mather  shook  his  head  positively,  and  in 
a  minute  or  two  walked  away,  leaving  her  apparently 
satisfied. 

"I  suppose  he  has  given  her  something  on  account," 
Ned  said  to  himself.  "I  wonder  where  he  got  it.  When 
Eipon  asked  him  last  Monday  for  a  subscription  to  buy 
another  set  of  bats  and  wickets,  so  that  two  lots  could 
practise  at  once,  he  said  he  had  only  sixpence  left,  and 
Mather  would  not  like  to  seem  mean  now,  for  he  knows 
he  doesn't  stand  well  with  any  one  except  two  or  three 
of  his  own  set,  because  he  is  always  running  out  against 
everything  that  Porson  does." 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  73 

A  week  later  Mr.  Person  said,  at  the  end  of  school: 

"By  the  way,  boys,  have  any  of  you  seen  that  illustrated 
classical  dictionary  of  miL.e.  I  had  it  in  school  about 
ten  days  ago  when  T  was  showing  you  the  prints  of  the 
dress  and  armor  of  the  Romans,  and  I  have  not  seen  it 
since.  I  fancy  I  must  have  left  it  on  my  table,  but  I 
cannot  be  sure.  I  looked  everywhere  in  my  library  for 
it  last  night  and  cannot  find  it.  Perhaps  if  I  left  it  oa 
the  desk  one  of  you  has  taken  it  to  look  at  the  pictures." 

There  was  a  general  silence. 

"I  think  it  must  be  so,"  Mr.  Person  went  on  more 
gravely.  "If  the  boy  who  has  it  will  give  it  up  I  shall 
not  be  angry,  as,  if  I  left  it  on  the  desk,  there  would  be 
no  harm  in  taking  it  to  look  at  the  pictures." 

Still  there  was  silence. 

"I  value  the  book,"  Mr.  Person  went  on,  "not  onlr 
because  it  is  an  expensive  work,  but  because  it  is  a  prize 
which  I  won  at  Durham." 

He  paused  a  moment,  and  then  said  in  a  stern  voice; 
"Let  every  boy  open  his  desk." 

The  desks  were  opened,  and  Mr.  Porson  walked  rcunc: 
and  glanced  at  each. 

"This  is  a  serious  matter  now,"  he  said.  "Ripon,  will 
you  come  to  the  study  with  me  and  help  me  to  search 
again.  It  is  possible  it  may  still  be  there  and  I  may 
have  overlooked  it.  The  rest  will  remain  in  their  places 
till  I  return." 

There  was  a  buzz  of  conversation  while  the  master  was 
absent.  On  his  return  he  said: 

"The  book  is  certainly  not  there.  The  bookshelves 
are  all  so  full  that  it  could  onl'y  have  been  put  in  its  own 
place  or  laid  upon  the  table.  Ripon  and  I  have  searched 
the  room  thoroughly  and  it  is  certainly  not  there.  Now, 
boys,  this  is  a  serious  business.  In  the  first  place,  I  will 
*give  a  last  chance  to  whoever  may  have  taken  it  to  rise 
in  his  place  and  confess  it." 


74  THRO  UOH  THE  FRA  F. 

He  paused,  and  still  all  were  silent. 

"Now  mind/'  he  said,  "I  do  not  say  that  any  of  yc:' 
have  taken  it — I  have  no  grounds  for  such  an 'accusation 
It  may  have  been  taken  by  a  servant,  A  tramp  rr.-:;  ,• 
have  come  in  at  the  back  gate  when  you  were  all  away 
and  have  carried  it  off.  These  things  are  possible.  And 
even  were  I  sure  that  it  had  been  done  by  one  of  you  1 
should  not  dream  of  punishing  all;  therefore  for  the 
present  we  will  say  no  more  about  it.  But  in  order  to 
assure  mysslf  and  you  I  must  ask  you  for  the  keys  of 
your  boxes.  The  servants'  boxes  will  also  be  searched, 
as  well  as  every  nook  and  corner  of  the  house;  and  then, 
when  we  have  ascertained  for  a  certainty  that  the  book 
is  not  within  these  four  walls,  I  shall  go  on  with  a  lighte: 
heart." 

The  boys  all  eagerly  opened  their  trunks  and  play- 
boxes,  searched  under  the  beds,  in  the  cupboards,  and  in 
every  nook  and  corner  of  their  part  of  the  house,  and  an 
equally  "minute  search  was  afterward  made  in  the  other 
apartments;  but  no  trace  of  the  book  was  discovered. 
For  days  the  matter  was  a  subject  of  conversation  among 
the  boys,  and  endless  were  the  conjectures  as  to  what 
could  have  become  of  the  dictionary.  Their  respect  and 
affection  for  their  master  were  greatly  heightened  by  the 
fact  that  his  behavior  toward  them  was  in  no  way  altered 
by  the  circumstances.  His  temper  was  as  patient  and 
equable  as  before  in  the  schoolroom;  he  was  as  cheerful 
and  friendly  in  the  cricket-field.  They  could  see,  hov,v- 
ever,  that  he  was  worried  and  depressed,  though  he 
strove  to  appear  the  same  as  usual  Often  did  they  dis- 
cuss among  themselves  how  different  the  state  of  things 
would  have  been  had  the  loss  happened  to  Mr.  Hathorn, 
and  what  a  life  they  would  have  led  under  those  circum- 
stances. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  the  happy  thought  struck 


THRO  (TGH  THE  FRA  T.  75 

that  a  subscription  should  be  made  to  buy  a  new  diction- 
ary. The  amount  was  a  serious  one,  as  they  found  that 
the  book  could  not  be  purchased  under  two  guineas;  but 
every  boy  subscribed  to  his  last  farthing.  Some  prom- 
ised their  pocket-money  for  weeks  in  advance;  others 
wrote  home  to  their  parents  to  ask  for  money,  and  in  ten 
days  the  boys  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  Eipon  at  the 
commencement  of  school  walk  up  to  Mr.  Person's  desk 
and  present  him  with  the  handsome  volume  in  the  name 
of  all  the  boys.  Ripon  had  taken  some  pains  in  getting 
up  an  appropriate  speech,  and  it  was  voted  a  great  success. 

"Mr.  Person,"  he  said,  "in  the  name  of  all  the  boys 
in  the  school  I  beg  to  ask  your  acceptance  of  this  volume. 
It  cannot  have  the  value  to  you  of  that  which  you  have 
lost,  as  that  was  a  prize;  but  we  hope,  that  as  a  proof  of 
the  respect  and  affection  which  we  all  have  for  you,  and 
as  a  token  of  our  appreciation  of  your  very  great  kind- 
ness toward  us,  you  will  accept  it  in  place  of  the  other." 

Mr.  Person's  face  lit  up  with  pleasure. 

"My  boys,"  he  said,  "I  am  very  highly  gratified  at  this 
proof  that  I  have  succeeded  in  my  endeavors  to  make 
you  feel  that  I  am  your  friend  as  well  as  your  master, 
and  I  shall  value  your  gift  far  more  highly  than  my  col- 
lege prize.  That  was  simply  the  result  of  my  own  labor; 
this  is  a  proof  of  kindness  and  affection  on  your  parts. 
I  shall  value  it  very  greatly  all  my  life.  And  now,  as  I 
don't  think  you  will  be  able  to  pay  much  attention  to 
your  work  this  morning,  and  as  I  have  been  for  some 
days  awaiting  an  opportunity  to  go  over  to  York,  where 
I  have  some  pressing  business,  I  shall  start  afc  once,  and 
can  just  catch  the  stage,  and  shall  get  back  in  time  for 
school  to-morrow  morning,  so  you  will  have  the  day  to 
yourselves." 

With  a  shout  of  pleasure  the  boys  started  off  for  a  long 
day  in  the  cricket-field,  while  Mr.  Person  hurried  away 
to  catch  the  stage-coach  for  York. 


76  THROUGH  THE  FJRAJ. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  THIEF  DETECTED. 

PORSON  was  in  his  place  next  morning,  having  re- 
turned only  half  an  hour  before  school  began;  he  looked 
fagged,  and  he  was  scarcely  so  attentive  as  usual  to  the 
lessons,  his  thoughts  seeming  to  be  elsewhere. 

"He  seems  regularly  done  up  with  his  journey,"  Eipon 
said  as  the  boys  came  out  of  school. 

"I  think  he  is  upset  about  something,"  Ned  remarked. 
'  'Sometimes  he  hardly  seemed  paying  attention  to  what 
was  going  on,  and  he  did  not  speak  as  cheerfully  as  usual. 
I  noticed  a  sort  of  change  in  his  voice  directly  he  began. 
I  hope  nothing  wrong  has  occurred,  we  were  getting  on 
so  jollily." 

When  afternoon  school  began  Mr.  Person  placed  on 
the  desk  before  him  a  packet  done  up  in  brown  paper. 

"Boys,"  he  said,  "I  have  got  my  book  again." 

An  exclamation  of  surprise  and  pleasure  burst  from 
the  boys.  The  mystery  had  weighed  heavily  on  ths 
school,  and  a  look  of  eager  curiosity  came  over  every 
face  to  hear  how  the  book  had  been  recovered.  "It  was 
found  in  a  bookseller's  shop  in  York,"  Mr.  Person  went 
on.  "I  myself  had  inquired  at  Leighton's  here,  but 
with  little  hope  of  finding  it,  for  no  one  who  stole  it 
would  have  disposed  of  it  so  near  home.  I  then  wrote 
to  several  friends  in  the  large  towns,  and  one  of  them,  a 
clergyman  at  York,  wrote  to  me  two  days  ago  to  say  that 


THROUGH  THE  F8AY.  77 

just  such  a  book  as  I  had  described  was  on  sale  in  the 
window  of  one  of  the  booksellers  there.  It  was  a  second- 
hand copy,  but  in  excellent  preservation.  The  fly-leaf 
was  missing.  On  going  over  yesterday  I  found  that  it 
was  my  book,  and  was  able  to  prove  it  by  several  mar- 
ginal notes  in  my  handwriting. 

"The  bookseller  said  at  once  that  it  was  sent  him  by 
a  general  dealer  at  Marsden  who  was  in  the  habit  of 
picking  up  books  at  sales  in  the  neighborhood  and  send- 
ing them  to  him;  he  had  given  eighteen  shillings  for  it. 
This  morning  I  have  called  upon  the  man,  whose  namt 
is  White,  accompanied  by  a  constable.  He  admitted  at 
•  once  that  he  had  sent  the  book  to  York,  and  said  that  h& 
bought  it  from  some  one  about  a  month  ago.  His  cus- 
tomer came  late,  and  as  White  is  short-sighted,  and  there 
v<ras  only  a  tallow-candle  burning  in  the  shop,  he  said 
that  he  should  not  know  him  again,  and  could  say  noth- 
ing about  his  age;  however,  I  shall  call  him  in;  he  is 
now  outside  with  the  constable.  I  am  sure  that  for  your 
own  sakes  you  will  not  object  to  his  taking  a  look  at  you." 

Mr.  Person  went  to  the  door,  and  the  constable  and 
White  entered.  The  chief  constable,  when  Mr.  Person 
had  called  upon  him  to  ask  for  one  of  his  men  to  accom- 
pany him  to  the  dealer's,  had  told  him  that  White  bore  a 
very  bad  reputation.  He  was  suspected  of  being  the 
medium  through  whom  stolen  goods  in  that  part  of 
Yorkshire  were  sent  up  to  London  for  disposal.  A  high- 
wayman who  had  been  caught  and  executed  at  York, 
had  in  his  confesssion  stated  that  this  man  had  acted  as 
his  go-between  for  the  disposal  of  the  watches  and  other 
articles  he  took  from  travelers,  and  White's  premises 
had  then  been  thoroughly  searched  by  the  constables; 
but  as  nothing  suspicious  was  found,  and  there  was  only 
the  unsupported  confession  of  the  highwayman  against 
turn,  he  had  got  off  scot-frae,  "I  don't  think  you  will 


7»  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

get  anything  out  of  him,  Mr.  Person,"  the  constable 
said.  "The  fact  that  he  has  been  trusted  by  these  fel- 
lows shows  that  he  is  not  a  man  to  peach  upon  those 
with  whom  he  deals;  and  in  the  next  place  he  would 
know  well  enough  that  if  any  one  were  convicted  of 
stealing  this  book  he  would  be  liable  to  a  prosecution  as 
receiver;  and  though  we  could  scarcely  get  a  conviction 
against  him,  as  we  could  not  prove  that  he  knew  that  it 
was  stolen,  it  would  do  him  no  good." 

The  boys  all  stood  up  in  a  line.  "I  will  look  at  'em, 
sir,"  "White  said;  "but,  as  I  have  told  you,  I  should  not 
know  the  man  as  I  bought  that  book  from,  from  Adam. 
Anyhow  none  of  these  little  ones  couldn't  be  he.  If  it 
weren't  a  man,  he  were  as  big  as  a  man.  You  don't 
suppose  an  honest  tradesman  would  buy  an  expensive 
book  like  that  from  a  kid." 

So  saying  he  placed  a  pair  of  horn  spectacles  on  his 
nose  and  walked  round  the  line. 

"I  don't  see  any  one  here  whose  face  I  ever  see  before 
as  far  as  I  knows;  but  bless  you,  the  man  as  I  bought  it 
of  might  have  had  hair  all  over  his  face,  and  I  be  none 
the  wiser  looking  at  him  across  that  counter  of  mine  in 
the  dark." 

"Thank  you,"  Mr.  Parson  said;  "then  it  is  of  no  use 
troubling  you  further.  I  have  got  my  book  back;  but  I 
confess  that  this  affords  me  but  small  gratification  in 
comparison  to  that  which  I  should  feel  if  I  could  unravel 
this  mystery." 

The  discovery  of  the  book  reopened  the  interest  in  the 
matter,  and  nothing  else  was  talked  of  that  evening  in 
the  playground. 

"Eipon,"  Ned  said,  putting  his  arm  in  that  of  the 
head-boy,  "I  want  to  tell  you  a  thing  that  has  been  in 
my  mind  for  the  last  three  weeks;  mind,  I  don't  say 
that  there's  anything  in  it,  and  I  hate  to  think  harm  of 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  F.  79 

any  one.  There  is  'another  thing;  he  and  I  ain't  good 
friends.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  that  I  should  have  spoken 
to  you  before;  but  I  was  afraid  that  it  would  look  like  a 
piece  of  dirty  spite  on  my  part;  but  I  do  think  now  that  as 
bead-boy  you  ought  to  know,  and  I  want  your  advice 
whether  I  ought  to  say  anything  about  it  or  not." 

"What  a  long-winded  chap  you  are,  Sankey!  What  is 
it  all  about?" 

"Well,  you  know,  Kipon,  when  we  got  up  that  sub- 
scription for  the  cricket  things,  Mather  didn't  give  any- 
thing. He  said  he  had  no  money." 

"No;  and  he  hadn't  any,"  Eipon  said,  "for  I  had  only 
the  day  before  lent  him  twopence  to  buy  some  string, 
and  he  paid  me  when  he  got  his  allowance  on  Saturday." 

"Well,  a  day  or  two  after  that  I  came  back  after  tea 
for  a  book  that  I  had  left  behind  me,  and  as  I  came  in 
at  the  gate  there  Mather  was  standing  at  the  corner 
talking  to  Mother  Brown.  He  had  his  back  to  the  door, 
and  they  didn't  see  me.  She  was  talking  loud  and  angry 
and  I  couldn't  h.3lp  hearing  what  she  said." 

"Well,  what  did  she  say?"  Eipon  said  rather  impa- 
tiently. 

"She  said,  'You  have  disappointed  me  over  and  over 
again,  and  if  you  don't  pay  me  that  ten  shillings  you 
borrowed  of  me  last  half,  and  the  bill  for  the  cakes,  by 
Saturday,  I  will  see  the  master  and  tell  him  all  about  it.' 
I  didn't  hear  any  more;  but  on  the  Saturday  I  saw  him 
go  up  to  her  in  the  field  and  pay  her  something.  Of 
course  I  don't  know  what  it  was;  not  all,  I  think,  by  the 
manner  in  which  she  took  it;  still,  I  suppose  it  was 
enough  to  content  her.  About  ten  days  afterward  we 
heard  the  book  was  missing.  It  didn't  strike  me  at  the 
time;  but  afterward,  when  I  thought  of  it,  I  remembered 
that  the  last  time  Person  brought  it  out  was  on  the 
Thursday,  which  was  the  day  after  Mather  had  been 


80  THRO  UGH  TEE  FItA  T. 

speaking  to  Mother  Brown.  Now,  of  course,  Ripon,  I 
don't  actually  suspect  Mather  of  taking  the  book;  still  it 
is  curious  its  being  missing  just  at  the  time  he  wanted 
money  so  badly.  He  may  have  got  the  money  from 
home,  or  he  may  have  borrowed  it  from  some  other 
fellow." 

"No,  "  Ripon  said  positively,  "I  am  sure  Mather  has 
had  no  letter,  because  I  always  distribute  the  letters,  and 
Mather's  people  never  write  to  him;  and  I  am  sure  there 
was  no  fellow  in  the  school  had  more  than  a  shilling  or 
two  at  the  outside  at  that  time.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me 
before,  Sankey?" 

"I  didn't  like  to,  because  every  one  knows  Mather  and 
I  are  not  good  friends;  then  I  thought  perhaps  Mather 
might  be  able  to  explain  it  all  right,  and  I  should  have 
cut  a  nice  figure  if  he  could;  then  at  the  time  when  I 
thought  of  it,  and  had  got  the  dates  rigtt,  the  first  ex- 
citement had  died  out  and  I  thought  we  might  hear  no 
more  of  it  and  it  would  be  forgotten;  but  now  that  the 
book  has  been  found  and  the  whole  thing  has  come  up 
fresh  again  I  thought  it  better  to  tell  you  all  about  it 
and  ask  you  what  you  would  advise  me  to  do." 

Ripon  did  not  answer  for  some  time;  then  he  said: 

"I  am  sure  I  aon't  know,  Ned;  I  will  think  it  over  till 
to-morrow.  You  have  not  said  anything  about  it  to  any 
one  else?" 

"Not  to  a  soul.  I  hesitated  whether  I  should  tell  you 
or  father,  but  he  wouldn't  understand  how  boys  think  of 
these  things  so  well  as  you  do;  so  I  thought  as  you  were 
head  of  the  school  it  was  best  you  should  know." 

"I  wish  you  hadn't  told  me,"  Ripon  grumbled.  "I 
am  sure  I  don't  know  what's  best  to  do;"  and  he  turned 
away  and  began  to  pace  the  yard  moodily  up  and  down. 

"The  only  thing  I  have  decided,"  he  said  to  Ned  the 
next  day,  "is  to  ask  Mother  Brown  myself  how  much 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  81 

Mather  paid  her.  We  may  as  well  settle  that  question 
first." 

As  this  was  Wednesday  and  the  cake-woman  was  com- 
ing that  evening  there  was  not  long  to  wait.  Ripon 
chose  a  time  when  most  of  the  boys  had  made  their  pur- 
chases and  the  old  woman  was  alone. 

"Don't  you  give  too  much  tick  to  any  of  the  fellows, 
Mother  Brown,"  he  began.  "You  know  it  isn't  always 
easy  to  get  money  that's  owing." 

"I  should  think  not,  Master  Ripon;  I  wish  they  would 
always  pay  money  down  as  you  do.  There's  Master 
Mather,  he  been  owing  me  money  ever  since  last  half. 
He  borrowed  ten  shillings  of  me  and  promised  solemn  he 
would  pay  at  the  end  of  the  week,  and  he  has  only  paid 
five  shillings  yet,  a  month  ago,  and  that  was  only  'cause 
I  told  him  I  would  tell  the  master  about  him;  there's 
that  five  shillings,  and  seven  shillings  and  eightpence 
for  cakes  and  things;  but  I  have  been  giving  him  a  piece 
of  my  mind  this  afternoon;  and  if  I  don't  get  that  other 
five  shillings  by  Saturday,  sure  enough  I  will  speak  to  t* 
maister  about  it.  No  one  can  say  as  Mother  Brown  is 
hard  on  boys,  and  I  am  always  ready  to  wait  reasonable; 
but  I  can't  abear  lies,  and  when  I  lent  that  ten  shillings 
I  expected  it  was  going  to  be  paid  punctual." 

"Then  he  knows  you  are  going  to  speak  to  Mr.  Person 
on  Saturday  if  he  doesn't  pay  up  another  five  shillings?" 

"He  knows  it,"  the  old  woman  said,  nodding.  "When 
I  says  a  thing  I  mean  it.  So  he  had  best  pay  up." 

When  Ripon  met  Ned  next  day  he  said:  "I  talked  to 
her  last  night.  Mather  paid  her  five  shillings,  and  she 
has  told  him  if  he  doesn't  pay  her  the  other  five  by  Sat- 
urday she  will  speak  to  Porson;  so  I  think  the  best  plan 
is  to  wait  till  then  and  see  what  comes  of  it.  She  will 
tell  the  whole  story  and  Porson  will  learn  it  without  our 
interference,  and  can  think  what  he  likes  about  it." 


82  THROUGH  THE 

Believed  in  mind  at  finding  that  there  was  a  prospect 
of  his  avoiding  the  decision  whether  or  not  to  inform 
the  master  of  his  suspicions,  Ned  went  to  his  desk 
When  afternoon  school  began  Mr.  Porson  said  gravely: 

"Boys,  when  you  came  back  from  the  field  did  you  all 
go  straight  to  the  washing-room  to  wash  your  hands  be- 
fore dinner?" 

There  was  a  chorus  of  surprised  assent. 

"I  am  sorry  to  tell  you  that  another  theft  has  been 
committed.  A  gold  pencil-case  has  disappeared  from 
my  study  table.  I  was  using  it  after  school.  I  left  it 
on  the  table  when  I  went  for  a  stroll  before  dinner.  I 
remember  most  distinctly  laying  it  down  among  the  pens. 
I  went  into  my  study  ten  minutes  ago,  and  wanting  to 
make  a  note  as  to  this  afternoon's  work  looked  for  the 
pencil  and  it  was  gone.  The  window  was  open  as  usual, 
and  it  is  possible  that  tramps  passing  along  the  road  may 
have  come  into  the  garden  and  have  got  in  at  the  win- 
dow. As  in  the  case  of  the  book  I  suspect  no  one,  but 
two  such  occurrences  as  these  are  very  uncomfortable 
for  us  all.  I  shall  not  propose  any  search  this  time,  for 
had  any  of  you  taken  it,  which  I  cannot  for  a  moment 
believe,  he  would  not  have  been  careless  enough  to  put 
it  in  his  pocket,  or  conceal  it  in  his  desk  or  boxes,  but 
would  have  stowed  it  away  somewhere  where  there  would 
be  no  chance  whatever  of  its  being  found.  Now  let  us 
dismiss  the  subject  and  go  on  with  our  lessons." 

While  the  master  was  speaking  Ripon  and  Sankey  ha£ 
glanced  for  a  moment  at  each  other;  the  same  thought 
was  in  both  their  minds.  After  school  was  over  they 
joined  each  other  in  the  yard. 

"Was  Mather  in  the  washing-room  with  the  others?" 
Sankey  asked  eagerly. 

"He  was,  but  he  came  up  last,"  Ripon  replied.  "You 
know  he  generally  saunters  along  in  a  lazy  way  and  is 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  F.  83 

the  last  to  get  in.  So  he  was  to-day,  but  I  don't  know 
that  he  was  later  than  usnal." 

"I  think,  Ripon,  we  ought  to  speak  to  Person." 

"I  think  so  too,"  Ripon  rejoined  gravely;  "it  is  too 
serious  to  keep  to  ourselves.  Any  ordinary  thing  I  would 
not  peach  about  on  any  account,  but  a  disgraceful  theft 
like  this,  which  throws  a  doubt  over  us  all,  is  another 
thing;  the  honor  of  the  whole  school  is  at  stake.  I  have 
been  thinking  it  over.  I  don't  want  Mather  to  suspect 
anything,  so  I  will  go  out  at  the  back  gate  with  you,  as  if  I 
was  going  to  walk  part  of  the  way  home  with  you,  and  then 
we  will  go  round  to  the  front  door  and  speak  to  Porson." 

The  master  was  sitting  on  a  low  seat  in  the  window  of 
his  study.  Hearing  footsteps  coming  up  from  the  front 
gate  he  looked  round. 

"Do  you  want  to  speak  to  me,  boys?"  he  asked  in 
some  surprise  through  the  open  window.  "What  makes 
you  come  round  the  front  way?" 

"We  want  to  see  you  privately,  sir,"  Eipon  said. 

"Very  well,  boys,  I  will  open  the  door  for  you.  Now, 
what  is  it?"  he  asked  as  the  boys  followed  him  into  the 
study. 

"Well,  sir,  it  may  be  nothing,  I  am  sure  I  hope  so," 
Ripon  said,  "but  Sankey  and  I  thought  you  ought  to 
know  and  then  it  will  be  off  our  minds,  and  you  can  do 
as  you  like  about  it.  Now,  Sankey,  tell  what  you  know 
first,  then  I  will  tell  what  Mother  Brown  said  to  me  on 
Wednesday." 

Ned  told  the  story  in  the  same  words  in  which  he  had 
related  it  to  Ripon;  and  Ripon  then  detailed  his  conver- 
sation with  the  cake-woman,  and  her  threats  of  reporting 
Mather  on  Saturday  were  the  debt  not  paid.  Ned  had 
already  given  his  reason  for  keeping  silence  in  the  matter 
hitherto,  and  Ripon  now  explained  that  they  had  deter- 
mined to  wait  till  Saturday  to  see  what  came  of  it,  but 


84  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  7. 

that  after  that  new  theft  they  deemed  it  their  duty  to 
speak  at  once.  Mr.  Person  sat  with  his  face  half-shaded 
with  his  hand  and  without  speaking  a  single  word  until 
the  boys  had  concluded. 

"It  is  a  sad  business,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone,  "a  very 
sad  business.  It  is  still  possible  that  you  may  have  come 
to  false  conclusions;  but  the  circumstances  you  have  re- 
lated are  terribly  strong.  I  am  grieved,  indeed,  over  the 
business,  and  would  rather  have  lost  a  hundred  books 
and  pencil-cases  than  it  should  have  happened.  You 
have  done  quite  right,  boys;  I  am  greatly  obliged  to  you 
both,  and  you  have  acted  very  well.  I  know  how  painful 
it  must  be  to  you  both  to  have  been  obliged  to  bring  so 
grave  a  matter  to  my  ears.  Thank  you;  I  will  consider 
what  is  the  best  course  to  adopt.  If  it  can  be  avoided,  I 
shall  so  arrange  that  your  names  do  not  appear  in  the 
matter." 

For  some  little  time  after  the  boys  had  left  him  Mr. 
Person  remained  in  deep  thought;  then  he  rose,  put  on 
his  hat,  and  went  out,  first  inquiring  of  the  servant  if 
she  knew  where  the  woman  who  sold  cakes  to  the  boys 
lived. 

"Yes,  sir;  she  lives  in  a  little  house  in  Mill  Street; 
it's  not  a  regular  shop,  but  there  are  a  few  cakes  in  one 
of  the  windows;  I  have  bought  things  there  for  the 
kitchen,  knowing  that  she  dealt  with  the  young  gentle- 
men." 

Mr.  Person  made  his  way  to  Mill  Street  and  easily 
found  tho  house  he  was  in  search  of.  On  being  ques- 
tioned the  old  woman  at  first  showed  some  reluctance  in 
answering  his  questions,  but  Mr.  Porson  said  sharply: 

"Now,  dame,  I  want  no  nonsense;  I  am  acquainted 
with  the  whole  affair,  but  wish  to  have  it  from  your  own 
lips.  Unless  you  tell  me  the  whole  truth  not  a  cake  will 
you  sell  my  boys  in  future." 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  Y.  85 

Thus  pressed  Mrs.  Brown  at  once  related  the  story  of 
Mather  having  borrowed  some  money  of  her;  of  her 
threats  to  report  him  unless  he  paid,  and  of  his  having 
given  her  five  shillings  on  the  following  Saturday,  saying 
that  he  would  give  her  the  rest  in  a  few  days,  but  could 
pay  no  more  then;  and  how,  after  repeated  disappoint- 
ments, she  had  now  given  him  till  Saturday  to  settle  the 
debt. 

"If  he  didn't  pay,  sir,  I  meant  to  have  come  to  ye  and 
telled  ye  all  about  it,  for  I  hate  lies,  and  Master  Mather 
has  lied  to  me  over  and  over  again  about  it;  but  seeing 
that  Saturday  hasn't  come  I  don't  like  telling  ye  the 
story,  as  he  may  have  meant  to  keep  his  word  to  me  this 
time." 

"Here  are  the  five  shillings  which  he  borrowed  of  you; 
as  to  the  other  money,  you  will  never  get  it,  and  I  hope 
it  will  be  a  lesson  to  you;  and  mind,  if  I  find  that  you 
ever  allow  the  boys  to  run  an  account  with  you  further 
than  the  following  Saturday  after  it  is  incurred,  you  will 
never  come  into  my  field  or  playground  again." 

Mr.  Porson  then  went  to  the  chief  constable's,  and  after 
a  short  conversation  with  him  a  constable  was  told  off  to 
accompany  him.  He  and  the  master  took  their  station 
at  a  short  distance  from  the  shop  of  the  man  White  and 
waited  quietly.  A  little  after  nine  a  figure  was  seen 
coming  down  the  street  from  the  other  end.  He  passed 
quickly  into  the  shop. 

"That  is  the  boy,"  Mr.  Porson  said. 

"Wouldn't  it  be  better,  sir,"  the  constable  asked,  "to 
wait  till  the  deed  is  completed,  then  we  can  lay  our  hands 
on  White  as  a  receiver?" 

"No,"  Mr.  Porson  replied,  "for  in  that  case  the  boy 
would  have  to  appear  with  him  in  the  dock,  and  that  I 
wish  of  all  things  to  avoid." 

So  saying  he  walked  quickly  on  and  entered  the  shop. 


86  THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  T. 

Mather  was  leaning  across  the  counter  while  the  man 
was  examining  the  pencil-case  by  the  light  of  the  candle. 

"Five  shillings,"  the  man  said,  "and  no  more.  I  was 
nearly  getting  into  trouble  over  that  last  job  of  yours." 

"But  it's  worth  a  great  deal  more  than  that,"  Mather 
said,  "You  might  give  me  ten." 

"Well,  take  it  back  then,"  the  man  said,  pushiqg  it 
across  the  counter. 

"Thank  you,  I  will  take  it  myself,"  Mr.  Person  said 
quietly,  as  he  advanced  and  stretched  out  his  hand. 

Mather  turned  round  with  a  sudden  cry,  and  then 
stood  the  picture  of  silent  terror. 

"As  for  you,"  the  master  said  indignantly  to  the 
dealer,  "you  scoundrel,  if  you  had  your  deserts  I  would 
hand  you  over  to  the  constable,  who  is  outside  the  door, 
as  a  receiver  of  stolen  goods,  and  for  inciting  this  boy  to 
theft.  I  heard  you  offer  him  a  sum  of  money  for  it 
which  shows  that  you  knew  it  was  stolen;  but  your  time 
will  come,  sir,  and  you  will  hang  over  the  gate  of  York 
prison  as  many  a  poor  wretch  far  less  guilty  than  your- 
self has  done;"  for  in  those  days  death  was  the  punish- 
ment of  receivers  of  stolen  goods,  as  well  as  of  those 
convicted  of  highway  robbery  and  burglary. 

"Have  mercy,  sir,  oh,  spare  mel"  Mather  exclaimed, 
falling  on  his  knees.  "Don't  give  me  in  charge." 

"I  am  not  going  to  do  so,"  the  master  said.  "Get  up 
and  come  with  me."  Not  a  word  was  spoken  on  the  way 
back  to  the  school. 

Mr.  Porson  then  took  Mather  into  his  study,  where 
they  remained  for  half  an  hour.  What  passed  between 
them  was  never  known.  In  the  morning  the  boys  who 
slept  in  the  room  with  Mather  were  surprised  to  find  that 
his  bed  was  empty  and  the  window  open.  He  had  gone 
to  bed  at  half-past  eight  as  usual,  and  saying  he  was 
sleepy  had  threatened  to  punch  the  head  of  any  boy  who 


THROUGH  THE  FRA-T.  87 

spoke,  so  that  all  had  gone  off  to  sleep  in  a  very  short 
time.  A  stout  ivy  grew  against  the  wall,  and  some  fallen 
leaves  on  the  ground  showed  them  that  he  had  climbed 
down  with  the  assistance  of  its  stem.  But  why  he  should 
have  gone,  and  what  on  earth  possessed  him  to  run  away, 
none  could  imagine.  The  news  ran  rapidly  through  the 
other  bedrooms,  and  brimful  of  excitement  all  went 
down  when  the  bell  rang  for  prayers  before  breakfast. 
The  list  of  names  was  called  out  by  the  master  as  usual, 
and  the  excitement  grew  breathless  as  the  roll  of  the 
third  class  was  called;  but  to  the  astonishment  of  all, 
Mather's  name  was  omitted.  When  the  list  was  con- 
cluded Mr.  Person  said: 

"Mather  has  left;  I  grieve  to  say  that  I  have  discovered 
that  it  was  he  who  stole  the  book  and  pencil-case.  He 
has  confessed  the  whole  to  me,  and  he  is,  I  trust,  sin- 
cerely penitent.  He  slept  last  night  on  the  sofa  in  my 
study,  and  has  gone  off  this  morning  by  the  coach.  I 
may  tell  you  that  I  have  written  to  his  parents  stating 
the  whole  circumstances  under  which  he  was  driven  to 
commit  the  theft,  and  that  although  I  could  not  permit 
him  to  remain  here,  I  trusted  and  believed  that  his  re- 
pentance was  sincere,  and  that  it  would  be  a  lesson(  to 
him  through  life,  and  I  urged  them  to  give  him  a  further 
trial,  and  not  to  drive  him  to  desperation  by  severity. 

"There  is  a  lesson  which  you  may  all  learn  from  this. 
Mather  committed  these  crimes  because  he  had  borrowed 
money  which  he  could  not  repay.  Most  foolishly  and 
mistakenly  the  woman  who  supplies  you  with  cakes  had 
lent  him  money  and  when  he  could  not  repay  it  accord- 
ing to  his  promise  to  her,  threatened  to  report  the  case 
to  me,  and  it  was  to  prevent  the  matter  coming  to  my 
ears  that  he  took  these  things.  Let  this  be  a  warning  to 
you,  boys,  through  life.  Never  borrow  money,  never 
spend  more  than  your  means  afford.  An  extravagance 


88  THRO  UQH  THE  PR  A  T. 

may  seem  to  you  but  a  small  fault,  but  you  see  crim« 
and  disgrace  may  follow  upon"  it.  Think  this  well  over, 
and  be  lenient  in  your  hearts  to  your  late  schoolfellow. 
He  was  tempted,  you  see,  and  none  of  us  can  tell  what 
he  may  do  when  temptation  comes,  unless  we  have  God's 
help  to  enable  us  to  withstand  it,  and  to  do  what  is  right. 
Now  let  us  fall  to  at  our  breakfast." 

It  was  a  strangely  silent  meal.  Scarce  a  word  was 
spoken,  even  in  a  whisper.  It  came  as  a  shock  to  every- 
body there,  that  after  all  the  dictionary  should  have  been 
taken  by  one  of  their  number,  and  that  the  master's 
kindness  on  that  occasion  should  have  been  requited  by 
another  robbery  seemed  a  disgrace  to  the  whole  school. 
That  Mather,  too,  always  loud,  noisy,  and  overbearing, 
should  have  been  the  thief  was  surprising  indeed.  Had 
it  been  some  quiet  little  boy,  the  sort  of  boy  others  are 
given  to  regard  as  a  sneak,  there  would  have  been  less 
surprise,  but  that  Mather  should  do  such  a  thing  was 
astounding.  These  were  probably  the  first  reflections 
which  occurred  to  every  boy  as  he  sat  down  to  breakfast. 

The  next  impression  was  how  good  Mr.  Person  had 
been  about  it.  He  might  have  given  Mather  in  charge, 
and  had  him  punished  by  law.  He  might  have  given 
him  a  terrific  flogging  and  a  public  expulsion  before  all 
the  school.  Instead  of  that  he  had  sent  him  quietly 
away,  and  seemed  sorry  for  rather  than  angry  with  him. 
By  the  time  the  meal  was  finished  there  was  probably 
not  a  boy  but  had  taken  an  inward  resolution  that  there 
was  nothing  he  would  not  do  for  his  master,  and  although 
such  resolutions  are  generally  but  transient,  Mr.  Porson 
found  that  the  good  effect  of  his  treatment  of  Mather 
was  considerable  and  permanent.  Lessons  were  more 
carefully  learned,  obedience  was  not  perhaps  more  prompt, 
but  it  was  more  willing,  and  the  boys  lost  no  opportunity 
of  showing  how  anxious  they  were  to  please  in  everj 
respect. 


TERG  UGH  IRE  FRA  T.  83 

Ned  and  his  brother  were  not  present  when  Mr.  Person 
explained  the  cause  of  Mather's  absence  to  the  others, 
but  they  were  surrounded  by  their  schoolfellows,  ail 
eager  to  tell  the  news  upon  their  arrival  in  the  play- 
ground a  few  minutes  before  the  school  began. 

Before  breaking  up  in  June,  Person's  played  their 
first  cricket-match  with  a  strong  village  team,  and  beat 
them  handsomely,  although,  as  the  boys  said,  it  was  to 
their  master's  bowling  that  their  success  was  due.  Stiil 
the  eleven  all  batted  fairly,  and  made  so  long  a  score 
that  they  won  in  one  innings;  and  Mr.  Person  promised 
them  that  before  the  season  ended  they  should  nave  a 
whole  holiday,  and  play  the  Marsden  eleven. 

Ned  enjoyed  his  holiday  rambles,  taking  several  long 
walks  across  the  moors  accompanied  by  Bill  Swinton, 
who  had  now  perfectly  recovered.  The  discontent 
among  the  croppers,  and  indeed  among  the  workers  in 
the  mills  generally  through  the  country  was  as  great  as 
ever;  but  the  season  was  a  good  one;  bread  had  fallen 
somewhat  in  price,  and  the  pinch  was  a  little  less  severe 
than  it  had  been.  The  majority  of  the  masters  had  been 
intimidated  by  the  action  of  their  hands  from  introduc- 
ing the  new  machinery,  and  so  far  the  relations  between 
master  and  men,  in  that  part  of  Yorkshire  at  any  rate, 
remained  unchanged.  But  although  Ned  enjoyed  his 
rambles  he  was  glad  when  the  holidays  were  over.  He 
had  no  friends  of  his  own  age  in  Marsden;  his  brother 
was  too  young  to  accompany  him  in  his  long  walks,  and 
Bill  obtained  a  berth  in  one  of  the  mills  shortly  after  the 
holidays  began,  and  was  no  longer  available.  Therefore 
Ned  looked  forward  to  meeting  his  schoolfellows  again, 
to  the  fun  of  the  cricket-field  and  playground,  and  even 
to  lessons,  for  these  were  no  longer  terrible. 

The  school  reopened  with  largely  increased  numbers. 
The  reports  which  the  boys  had  taken  home  of  the 


90  THRO  UGH  TUE  FRA  Y. 

changed  conditions  of  things  and  of  their  master's  kind- 
ness excited  among  all  their  friends  an  intense  longing 
to  go  to  a  school  where  the  state  of  things  was  so  differ- 
ent to  that  which  prevailed  elsewhere;  and  the  parents 
were  equally  satisfied  with  the  results  of  the  new  mas- 
ter's teaching.  Such  as  took  the  trouble  to  ask  their 
boys  questions  found  that  they  had  acquired  a  real  grasp 
of  the  subjects,  and  that  they  were  able  to  answer  clearly 
and  intelligently.  The  consequence  was,  the  house  was 
filled  with  its  full  complement  of  fifty  boarders,  and  in- 
deed Mr.  Porson  was  obliged  to  refuse  several  applications 
for  want  of  room.  As  he  had  not  the  same  objection  as 
his  predecessor  to  receive  home  boarders,  the  numbers 
were  swelled  by  eighteen  boys  whose  parents  resided  in 
Marsden. 

To  meet  the  increased  demands  upon  his  teaching 
powers  Mr.  Porson  engaged  two  ushers,  both  of  them 
young  men  who  had  just  left  Durham.  They  were  both 
pleasant  and  gentlemanly  young  fellows;  and  as  Mr. 
Porson  insisted  that  his  own  mode  of  teaching  should  be 
adopted,  the  change  did  not  alter  the  pleasant  state  of 
things  which  had  prevailed  during  the  past  half-year. 
Both  the  ushers  were  fond  of  cricket,  and  one  turned 
out  to  be  at  least  equal  to  Mr.  Porson  as  a  bowler. 
Therefore  the  boys  looked  forward  to  their  match  with 
Marsden  with  some  confidence. 

Captain  Sankey  saw  with  great  pleasure  the  steady 
improvement  which  was  taking  place  in  Ned's  temper. 
It  was  not  to  be  expected  that  the  boy  would  at  once 
overcome  a  fault  of  such  long  standing,  but  the  outbursts 
were  far  less  frequent,  and  it  was  evident  that  he  was 
putting  a  steady  check  upon  himself;  so  that  his  father 
looked  forward  to  the  time  when  he  would  entirely  over- 
come the  evil  consequences  engendered  by  his  unchecked 

and  undisciplined  GhildiiQod. 


THROUGH  THE  FRAY. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A    TERRIBLE    SHOCK. 

NED  had  been  looking  forward  with  great  anticipations 
to  Michaelas  day,  upon  which  the  great  match  was  to 
take  place;  for  he  was  one  of  the  eleven,  being  the 
youngest  of  the  boys  included  in  it.  An  event,  how- 
ever, happened  which  deprived  him  of  his  share  in  the 
match,  and  caused  the  day  to  pass  almost  unnoticed. 
On  the  20th  of  September  the  servant  came  in  to  Mr. 
Porson  during  morning  school  to  say  that  he  was  wanted. 
A  minute  or  two  later  she  again  re-entered  and  said  that 
Ned  and  his  brother  were  to  go  to  the  master's  study. 
Much  surprised  at  this  summons  they  followed  her.  Mr. 
Porson  was  looking  exceedingly  grave7 

"My  dear  boys,"  he  said,  "I  have  bad  news  for  you. 
Very  bad  news.  You  must  bear  it  bravely,  looking  for 
support  and  consolation  to  Him  who  alone  can  give  it. 
Dr.  Green's  boy  has  just  been  here.  He  was  sent  down 
by  his  master  to  say  that  there  has  been  a  serious  acci- 
dent in  the  town." 

The  commencement  of  the  master's  speech  and  the 
graveness  of  his  tone  sent  a  serious  thrill  through  the 
hearts  of  the  boys.  Mr.  Porson  would  never  have  spoken 
thus  had  not  the  news  been  serious  indeed. 

When  he  paused  Ned  gave  a  little  gasp  and  exclaimed, 
"My  father!" 

"Yes,  Ned,  I  am  grieved  to  say  that  it  is  your  brav» 


92  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  Y. 

father  who  has  suffered  from  the  accident.  It  seemt 
that  as  he  was  walking  down  the  High  Street  one  of 
Eamsay's  heavy  wagons  came  along.  A  little  girl  ran 
across  the  street  ahead,  but  stumbled  and  fell  close  to 
the  horses.  Your  father,  forgetful  of  the  fact  of  his 
wooden  Lg,  rushed  over  to  lift  her;  but  the  suddenness 
of  the  movement,  he  being  a  heavy  man,  snapped  the 
wooden  leg  in  sunder,  and  he  fell  headlong  in  the  street. 
He  was  witMn  reaeli  of  the  child,  and  he  caught  her  by 
the  clothes  and  jerked  her  aside;  but  before  he  could,  in 
Jsis  crippled  condition,  regain  his  feet,  the  wheel  was 
tspon  him,  and  he  has  suffered  very  serious  injuries.'* 

"He  is  not  dead,  sir?"  Ned  gasped,  while  his  brother 
began  to  cry  piteous^y. 

"No,  Ned,  he  is  not  dead,"  Mr.  Porson  said;  "but  I 
fear,  my  dear  boy,  that  it  would  be  cruel  kindness  did  I 
not  tell  you  to  prepare  yourself  for  the  worst.  I  fear 
from  what  I  hear  that  he  is  fatally  injured,  and  that 
there  is  but  little  hope.  Get  your  hats,  my  boys,  and  I 
will  walk  home  with  you  at  once." 

There  were  but  few  words  exchanged  during  that  dis- 
mal walk,  and  these  were  addressed  by  Mr.  Porson  to 
Ned.  "Try  to  calm  yourself,  my  boy,"  he  said,  putting 
his  hand  on  his  dhoulder,  which  was  shaking  with  the 
loy's  efforts  to  keep  down  his  convulsive  sobs;  "try  and 
nerve  yourselves  for  the  sake  of  your  father  himself,  of 
your  mother,  and  the  little  ones.  The  greatest  kindness 
you  can  show  to  your  father  now  is  by  being  calm  and 
composed." 

"I  will  try,  sir,"  Ned  said  as  steadily  as  he  could; 
"but  you  don't  know  how  I  loved  him!" 

"I  can  guess  it,  my  boy;  for  I,  too,  lost  my  father 
when  I  was  just  your  age.  God's  ways  are  not  our  ways, 
Ned;  and  be  sure,  although  you  may  not  see  it  now,  that 
he  acts  for  the  best." 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  Y.  93 

A  little  crowd  stood  gathered  near  the  door.  They 
were  talking  in  low  tones  of  the  gallant  way  in  which 
the  crippled  officer  had  sacrificed  himself  to  save  the 
child.  They  made  way  silently  for  the  boys  to  pass. 
Ned  opened  the  boor  and  entered. 

Abijah  was  in  the  hall.  She  was  tearless,  but  her  face 
was  white  and  set.  "My  poor  boy,"  she  said  to  Ned, 
"he  is  in  the  parlor;  he  has  just  been  asking  for  you.  I  am 
glad  you  have  come.  Your  mother  is  in  hysterics  in  her 
bedroom,  and  is  going  on  like  a  mad  woman.  You  must 
be  calm,  dear,  for  your  father's  sake." 

Ned  gave  a  little  nod,  and,  taking  his  brother's  hand, 
opened  the  door  of  the  parlor. 

Captain  Sankey  was  lying  on  the  hearth-rug,  his  head 
propped  up  with  pillows  from  the  sofa;  his  face  was  an 
ashen  pallor,  and  his  eyes  were  closed.  The  doctor  was 
kneeling  beside  him,  pouring  some  liquid  from  a  glass 
between  his  lips.  A  strong  friendship  had  sprung  up 
between  the  two  men,  and  tears  were  running  fast  down 
the  doctor's  cheeks.  He  motioned  to  the  boys  to  ap» 
proach.  They  fell  on  their  knees  by  their  father's  side. 

"Sankey,"  the  doctor  said  in  a  steady  voice,  "here  are 
your  boys,  Ned  and  Charlie."  The  eyes  of  the  dying 
man  opened  slowly,  and  he  looked  at  his  sons,  and  Ned 
felt  a  slight  pressure  of  the  hand  which  he  had  taken  in 
his  own. 

"God  bless  you,  my  boys!"  he  said,  in  a  faint  whisper. 
"Ned,  be  kind  to  your  mother;  care  for  her  always. 
She  will  need  all  your  kindness." 

"I  will,  father,"  the  boy  said  steadily.  "I  will  take 
care  of  mother,  I  promise  you," 

A  faint  smile  passed  over  the  pale  face;  then  the  eyes 
closed  again,  and  there  was  silence  for  five  minutes, 
broken  only  by  the  sobbing  of  the  younger  boy.  The 
doctor,  who  had  his  fingers  on  the  pulse  of  Captain  San- 


$4  T&RO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

key,  leaned  closely  over  him;  then  he  laid  his  arm  gently 
down,  and  putting  his  hand  on  Ned's  shoulder  said  softly: 

"Come,  my  boy,  your  father  is  out  of  pain  now." 

Ned  gave  one  loud  and  bitter  cry,  and  threw  himself 
down  by  the  side  of  the  corpse,  and  gave  way  to  his 
pent-up  emotion. 

The  doctor  led  the  younger  boy  from  the  room,  and 
gave  him  into  the  care  of  Abijah.  Then  he  returned 
and  stood  for  awhile  watching  Ned's  terrible  outburst  of 
grief;  then  he  poured  some  wine  into  a  glass.  "My 
boy,"  he  said  tenderly,  "you  must  not  give  way  like  this 
or  you  will  make  yourself  ill.  Drink  this,  Ned,  and  then 
go  up  and  lie  down  on  your  bed  until  you  feel  better. 
.Remember  you  must  be  strong  for  the  sake  of  the  others, 
You  know  you  will  have  to  bear  your  mother's  burdens 
as  well  as  your  own." 

He  helped  Ned  to  his  feet  and  held  the  glass  to  his 
lips,  for  the  boy's  hand  was  shaking  so  that  he  could  not 
have  held  it.  After  drinking  it  Ned  stumbled  upstairs 
and  threw  himself  on  the  bed,  and  there  cried  silently 
for  a  long  time;  but  the  first  passion  of  grief  had  passed, 
and  he  now  struggled  with  his  tears,  and  in  an  hour  rose, 
bathed  his  flushed  and  swollen  face,  and  went  downstairs. 

"Abijah,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  which  he  struggled  in 
vain  to  steady,  "what  is  there  for  me  to  do?  How  is  my 
mother?" 

"She  has  just  cried  herself  off  to  sleep,  Master  Ned, 
and  a  mercy  it  is  for  her,  poor  lady,  for  she  has  been 
going  on  dreadful  ever  since  he  was  brought  in  here; 
but  if  you  go  in  to  Master  Charlie  and  Miss  Lucy  and 
try  and  comfort  them  it  would  be  a  blessing.  I  have 
not  been  able  to  leave  your  mother  till  now,  and  the 
poor  little  things  are  broken-hearted.  I  feel  dazed  my- 
self, sir.  Think  of  the  captain,  who  went  out  so  strong 
and  well  this  morning,  speaking  so  'liud  and  bright  just 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  Y.  95 

as  usual,  lying  there!"  and  here  Abijah  broke  down  and 
for  the  first  time  since  Captain  Sankey  was  carried  into 
the  house  tears  came  to  her  relief,  and  throwing  her 
arms  round  Ned's  neck  she  wept  passionately. 

Ned's  own  tears  flowed  too  fast  for  him  to  speak  for 
some  time.  At  last  he  said  quietly,  ''Don't  cry  so,  Abi- 
jah. It  is  the  death  of  all  others  that  was  fitted  for  him, 
he,  so  brave  and  unselfish,  to  die  giving  his  life  to  save  a 
child.  You  told  me  to  be  brave;  it  is  you  who  must  be 
brave,  for  you  know  that  you  must  be  our  chief  depend- 
ence now." 

"I  know,  Master  Ned;  I  know,  sir,"  the  woman  said, 
choking  down  her  sobs,  and  wiping  her  eyes  with  her 
apron,  "and  I  will  do  my  best,  never  fear.  I  feel  better 
now  I  have  had  a  good  cry.  Somehow  I  wasn't  able  to 
cry  before.  Now,  sir,  do  you  go  to  the  children  and  I 
will  look  after  things." 

A  fortnight  passed.  Captain  Sankey  had  been  laid  in 
his  grave,  after  such  a  funeral  as  had  never  been  seen  in 
Marsden,  the  mills  being  closed  for  the  day,  and  all  the 
shutters  up  throughout  the  little  town,  the  greater  part 
of  the  population  attending  the  funeral  as  a  mark  of  re- 
spect to  the  man  who,  after  fighting  the  battles  of  his 
country,  had  now  given  his  life  for  that  of  a  child.  The 
great  cricket-match  did  not  come  off,  it  being  agreed  on 
all  hands  that  it  had  better  be  postponed.  Mr.  Person 
had  called  twice  to  see  Ned,  and  had  done  much  by  his 
comforting  words  to  enable  him  to  bear  up.  He  came 
again  the  day  after  the  funeraL 

"Ned,"  he  said,  "I  think  that  you  and  Charlie  had  better 
come  to  school  again  on  Monday.  The  sooner  you  fall 
into  your  regular  groove  the  better.  It  would  only  do 
you  both  harm  to  mope  about  the  house  here;  and  al- 
though the  laughter  and  noise  of  your  schoolfellows  will 
jar  upon  you  for  awhile,  it  is  better  to  overcome  the  feel* 


06  THRO  UGH  THE  Fit  A  F. 

ing  at  once;  and  I  am  sure  that  you  will  best  carry  out 
what  would  have  been  his  wishes  by  setting  to  your  work 
again  instead  of  wasting  your  time  in  listless  grieving." 

"I  think  so  too,  sir,"  Ned  said,  "but  it  will  be  awfully 
hard  at  first,  and  so  terrible  to  come  home  and  have  no 
one  to  question  one  on  the  day's  work,  and  to  take  an 
interest  in  what  we  have  been  doing." 

"Very  hard,  Ned;  I  thoroughly  agree  with  you,  but  it 
has  to  be  borne,  and  remember  there  is  One  who  will 
take  interest  in  your  work.  If  I  were  you  I  should  take 
your  brother  out  for  walks  this  week.  Get  up  into  the 
hills  with  him,  and  try  and  get  the  color  back  into  his 
cheeks  again.  He  is  not  so  strong  as  you  are,  and  the 
confinement  is  telling  upon  him — the  fresh  air  will  do 
you  good  too." 

Ned  promised  to  take  his  master's  advice,  and  the  next 
morning  started  after  breakfast  with  Charlie.  Hia 
mother  had  not  yet  risen,  and  indeed  had  not  been 
downstairs  since  the  day  of  the  accident,  protesting  that 
she  was  altogether  unequal  to  any  exertion  whatever. 
Ned  had  sat  with  her  for  many  hours  each  day,  but  he 
had  indeed  found  it  hard  work.  Sometimes  she  wept, 
her  tears  being  mingled  with  self-reproaches  that  she 
had  not  been  able  to  do  more  to  brighten  her  husband's 
life.  Sometimes  she  would  break  off  and  reproach  the 
boy  bitterly  for  what  she  called  his  want  of  feeling.  At 
other  times  her  thoughts  seemed  directed  solely  toward 
the  fashion  of  her  mourning  garments,  and  after  the 
funeral  she  drove  Ned  almost  to  madness  by  wanting  to 
know  all  the  details  of  who  was  there  and  what  was  done, 
and  was  most  indignant  with  him  because  he  was  able  to 
tell  her  nothing,  the  whole  scene  having  been  as  a  mist 
to  him,  absorbed  as  he  was  in  the  thought  of  his  father 
alone. 

But  Ned  had  never  showed  the  least  sign  of  impatience 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  Y.  97 

or  hastiness,  meeting  tears,  reproaches,  and  inquiries 
with  the  same. stoical  calmness  and  gentleness.  Still  it 
was  with  a  sigh  of  relief  that  he  took  a  long  breath  cl 
fresh  air  as  he  left  the  house  and  started  for  a  ramble  on 
the  moor  with  his  brother.  He  would  have  avoided 
Varley,  for  he  shrank  even  from  the  sympathy  which 
Bill  Swinton  would  give;  but  Bill  would  be  away,  so  as 
it  was  the  shortest  way  he  took  that  road.  As  he  passed 
Luke  Marner's  cottage  the  door  opened  and  Mary  came 
down  to  the  gate.  One  of  the  little  ones  had  seen  Ned 
coming  along  the  road  and  had  run  off  to  tell  her.  Lit- 
tle Jane  Marner  trotted  along  by  Polly's  side. 

"Good-morning,  Polly!"  Ned  said,  and  walked  on. 
He  dreaded  speech  with  any  one.  Polly  saw  his  inten- 
tion and  hesitated;  then  she  said: 

"Good-morning,  Master  Ned!  One  moment,  please, 
sir." 

Ned  paused  irresolutely. 

"Please  don't  say  anything,"  he  began. 

"No,  sir,  I  am  not  a-going  to — at  least — "and  then  she 
hesitated,  %nd  lifted  up  the  child,  who  was  about  four 
years  old,  a  soft-eyed,  brown-haired  little  maiden.  "It's 
little  Jenny,"  she  said;  "you  know  sir,  you  know;"  and 
ehe  looked  meaningly  at  the  child  as  the  tears  stood  in 
her  eyes. 

Ned  understood  at  once. 

"What!"  he  said;  "was  it  her?  I  did  not  know;  I 
had  not  heard." 

"Yes,  sir;  she  and  all  of  us  owe  her  life  to  him.  Fey- 
ther  wanted  to  come  down  to  you,  but  I  said  better  not 
yet  awhile,  you  would  understand." 

"How  did  it  happen?"  Ned  said,  feeling  that  here  at 
least  his  wound  would  be  touched  with  no  rough  hand. 

"She  went  down  to  the  town  with  Jarge,  who  waa 
going  to  fetch  some  things  I  wanted.  He  left  her  look* 


THE  FRA  T. 

ing  in  at  a  shop  window  while  he  went  inside.  They 
were  some  time  serving  him  as  there  were  other  people 
in  the  shop.  Jenny  got  tired,  as  she  says,  of  waiting, 
and  seeing  some  pictures  in  a  window  on  the  other  side 
of  the  street  started  to  run  across,  and  her  foot  slipped, 
and— and " 

"I  know,"  Ned  said.  "I  am  glad  you  have  told  me, 
Polly.  I  am  glad  it  was  some  one  one  knows  something 
about.  Don't  say  anything  more  now,  I  calfciot  bear  it." 

"I  understand,  sir,"  the  girl  said  gently.  "God  bless 
you!" 

Ned  nodded.  He  could  not  trust  himself  to  speak, 
and  turning  he  passed  on  with  Charlie  through  the  vil- 
lage, while  Mary  Powlett,  with  the  child  still  in  her  arms, 
stood  looking  sorrowfully  after  him  as  long  as  he  was  in 
sight. 

'  "So  thou'st  seen  the  boy?"  Luke  said,  when  on  his 
return  from  work  Polly  told  him  what  had  happened. 
"Thou  told's  him,  oi  hope,  how  we  all  felt  about  it,  and 
how  grateful  we  was?" 

"I  didn't  say  much,  feyther,  he  could  not  bear  it;  just 
a  word  or  two;  if  I  had  said  more  he  would  have  broken 
out  crying,  and  so  should  I." 

"Thou  hast  cried  enoo,  lass,  the  last  ten  days.  Thou 
hast  done  nowt  but  cry,"  Luke  said  kindly,  "and  oi  felt 
sore  inclined  to  join  thee.  Oi  ha*  had  hard  work  to  keep 
back  the  tears,  old  though  oi  be,  and  oi  a  cropper." 

"You  are  just  as  soft-hearted  as  I  am,  feyther,  every 
bit,  so  don't  pretend  you  are  not;"  and  indeed  upon  the 
previous  day  Luke  Marner  had  broken  down  even  more 
completely  than  Mary.  He  had  followed  the  funeral  «at 
a  short  distance,  keeping  with  Mary  aloof  from  the 
crowd;  hut  when  all  was  over,  and  the  churchyard  was 
left  in  quiet  again,  Luke  had  gone  and  stoed  by  the  still 
open  grave  of  the  man  who  had  given  his  life  for  his 


THROUGH  THE  FRAY.  99 

child's,  and  had  stood  there  with  the  tears  streaming  down 
his  cheeks,  and  his  strong  frame  so  shaken  by  emotion 
that  Polly  had  been  forced  to  dry  her  own  eyes  and  stifle 
her  sobs,  and  to  lead  him  quietly  away. 

"Strange,  hain't  it,  lass;  feyther  and  son  seem  mixed 
up  with  Varley.  First  the  lad  has  a  f oight  wi'  Bill  Swin- 
ton,  and  braakes  the  boy's  leg;  then  t'  feyther  sends  oop 
all  sorts  o'  things  to  Bill,  and  his  son  comes  up  here  and 
gets  as  friendly  with  Bill  as  if  he  were  his  brother,  and 
gets  to  know  you,  and  many  another  in  the  village. 
Then  our  Jane  goes  down  into  t'  town  and  would  ha* 
lost  her  life  if  captain  he  hadn't  been  passing  by  and 
saaved  her.  Then  he  gets  killed.  Just  gived  his  life 
for  hearn.  Looks  loike  a  fate  aboot  it;  may  be  it  ool  be 
our  toorn  next,  and  if  ever  that  lad  waants  a  man  to 
stand  beside  him  Luke  Marner  will  be  there.  And 
there's  Bill  too — oi  believe  that  boy  would  lay  down  his 
life  for  him.  He's  very  fond  of  our  Janey — fonder  nor 
her  own  brothers.  He  ain't  got  no  sister  of  his  own, 
and  he's  took  to  t'  child  wonderful  since  he  got  ill.  He 
thowt  a  soight  o'  Ned  Sankey  afore;  I  doan't  know  what 
he  wouldn't  do  for  him  now." 

"I  don't  suppose,  feyther,  as  any  of  us  will  be  able  to 
do  anything  for  him;  but  we  may  do,  who  knows?'* 

"Ay,  who  knows,  lass?  toimes  is  main  bad,  and  oi  doot 
there  will  be  trouble,  but  oi  doan't  see  as  that  can  affect 
him  no  ways,  being  as  he  is  a  lad,  and  having  nowt  to  do 
with  the  mills — but  oi  do  hoape  as  the  time  may  come, 
lass,  as  we  can  show  un  as  we  knows  we  owes  a  loife  to 
him." 

On  the  Monday  following  Ned  and  Charlie  returned  to 
school,  and  found  it  less  painful  than  Ned  had  expected. 
Mr.  Porson  had  taken  Ripon  aside  and  had  told  that  the 
kindest  way  to  treat  the  boys  would  be  to  avoid  all  allu- 
to  their  loss  or  anything  like  a  show  of  open  sympa- 


100  THRO  Uff.tf  TEE  FRA  7. 

thy,  but  to  let  them  settle  quietly  into  their  places. 
"Sankey  will  know  you  all  feel  for  him,  Kipon,  he  will 
need  no  telling  of  that." 

Ripon  passed  the  word  round  the  school,  and  accord- 
ingly when  the  boys  came  into  the  playground,  two  or 
three  minutes  before  the  bell  rang,  Ned,  to  his  great  re- 
lief, found  that  with  the  exception  of  a  warm  silent  wring 
of  the  hand  from  a  few  of  those  with  whom  he  was  most 
intimate,  and  a  kindly  nod  from  others,  no  allusion  wag 
made  to  his  fortnight's  absence  or  its  cause. 

For  the  next  month  he  worked  hard  and  made  up  the 
time  he  had  lost,  running  straight  home  when  he  came 
out  from  school,  and  returning  just  in  time  to  go  in  with 
the  others;  but  gradually  he  fell  into  his  former  ways, 
and  by  the  time  the  school  broke  up  at  Christmas  was 
able  to  mix  with  the  boys  and  take  part  in  their  games. 
At  home  he  did  his  best  to  make  things  bright,  but  it 
was  uphill  work.  Mrs.  Sankey  was  fretful  and  com- 
plaining. Their  income  was  reduced  by  the  loss  of  Cap- 
tain Sankey's  half-pay,  and  they  had  now  only  the  inter- 
est of  the  fortune  of  four  thousand  pounds  which  Mrs. 
Sankey  had  brought  to  her  husband  on  her  marriage. 
This  sum  had  been  settled  upon  her,  and  was  entirely 
under  her  own  control.  The  income  was  but  a  small 
one,  but  it  was  sufficient  for  the  family  to  live  upon  with 
care  and  prudence. 

Captain  Sankey  had  made  many  friends  since  the  time 
"when  he  first  settled  at  Marsden,  and  all  vied  with  each 
other  in  their  kindness  to  his  widow.  Presents  of  game 
were  constantly  left  for  her;  baskets  of  chickens,  eggs, 
and  fresh  vegetables  were  sent  down  by  Squire  Simmonds 
and  other  county  magnates,  and  their  carriages  often 
stopped  at  the  door  to  make  inquiries.  Many  people 
who  had  not  hitherto  called  now  did  so,  and  all  Marsden 
seemed  anxious  to  testify  its  sympathy  with  the  widow 


THROUGH  THE  FRA  7.  101 

of  the  brave  officer.  Ned  was  touched  with  these  evi- 
dences of  respect  for  his  father's  memory.  Mrs.  Sankey 
was  pleased  for  herself,  and  she  would  of  an  evening  in- 
form Ned  with  much  gratification  of  the  visits  she  had 
received. 

Ned  was  glad  that  anything  should  occur  which  could 
rouse  his  mother,  and  divert  her  from  her  own  griev- 
ances; but  the  tone  in  which  she  spoke  often  jarred  pain- 
fully upon  him,  and  he  wondered  how  his  mother  could 
find  it  in  her  heart  to  receive  these  people  and  to  talk 
over  his  father's  death.  But  Mrs.  Sankey  liked  it.  She 
was  conscious  she  looked  well  in  her  deep  mourning,  and 
that  even  the  somber  cap  was  not  unbecoming  with  her 
golden  hair  peeping  out  beneath  it.  Tears  were  alwaya 
at  her  command,  and  she  had  ever  a  few  ready  to  drop 
upon  her  dainty  embroidered  handkerchief  when  the 
-occasion  commanded  it;  and  her  visitors,  when  they 
Agreed  among  themselves,  what  a  soft  gentle  woman  that 
£oo*  Mrs.  Sankey  was,  but  sadly  delicate  you  know — had 
no  'dea  of  the  querulous  complaining  and  fcetfulness 
whose  display  was  reserved  for  her  own  family  only.  To 
this  Ivtf  J  was  so  accustomed  that  it  passed  over  his  head 
almost  unheeded;  not  so  her  constant  allusions  to  his 
father.  Wholly  unconscious  of  the  agony  which  it  in- 
flicted ujma  the  boy,  Mrs.  Sankey  was  incessantly  quot- 
ing his  opinions  or  utterances. 

"Ned,  I  do  vibh  you  would  not  fidget  with  your  feet. 
You  know  your  dear  father  often  told  you  of  it;"  or, 
"As  your  dear  lathe*-  used  to  say,  Ned;"  until  the  boy 
in  despair  would  throw  down  his  book  and  rush  out  of 
the  room  to  calm  himself  by  a  run  in  the  frosty  night  air; 
while  Mrs.  Sankey  would  murmur  to  herself,  "That  boy's 
temper  gets  worse  and  worse,  and  with  my  poor  nerves 
bow  am  I  to  control  him?" 

Mr.  Person  was  very  kind  to  him  in  those  days.    Dux- 


102  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

ing  that  summer  holiday  he  had  very  frequently  spent 
the  evening  at  Captain  Sankey's,  and  had  formed  a  pretty 
correct  idea  of  the  character  of  Ned's  mother.  Thus 
when  he  saw  that  Ned,  when  he  entered  the  school  after 
breakfast  or  dinner,  had  an  anxious  hunted  look,  and  was 
clearly  in  a  state  of  high  tension,  he  guessed  he  was  hav- 
ing a  bad  time  of  it  at  home. 

Charlie  had  fast  got  over  the  shock  of  his  father's 
death;  children  quickly  recover  from  a  blow,  and,  though 
delicate,  Charlie  was  of  a  bright  and  gentle  disposition, 
ready  to  be  pleased  at  all  times,  and  not  easily  upset. 

One  morning  when  Ned  came  in  from  school  looking 
pale  and  white,  gave  random  answers  to  questions,  and 
even,  to  the  astonishment  of  the  class,  answered  Mr. 
Porson  himself  snappishly,  the  master,  when  school  was 
ever  and  the  boys  were  leaving  their  places,  said: 

"Sankey,  I  want  to  have  a  few  words  with  you  in  the 
study." 

Ned  followed  his  master  with  an  air  of  indifference. 
He  supposed  that  he  was  going  to  be  lectured  for  the 
way  he  had  spoken,  but  as  he  said  to  himself,  "What  did 
it  matter!  what  did  anything  matter!"  Mr.  Porson  did 
not  sit  down  on  entering  the  room,  but  when  Ned  had 
closed  the  door  after  him  took  a  step  forward  and  laid 
his  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"My  boy,"  he  said,  "what  is  it  that  is  wrong  with  you? 
I  fear  that  you  have  trouble  at  home." 

Ned  stood  silent,  but  the  tears  welled  up  into  his  eyes. 

"It  can't  be  helped,  sir,"  he  said  in  a  choking  voice, 
and  then  with  an  attempt  at  gayety:  "it  will  be  all  the 
same  fifty  years  hence,  I  suppose." 

"That  is  a  poor  consolation,  Ned,"  Mr.  Porson  re- 
joined. "Fifty  years  is  a  long  time  to  look  forward  to. 
Can't  we  do  anything  before  that?" 

Ned  was  silent. 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  Y.  103 

"I  do  not  want  you  to  tell  me,  Ned,  anything  that 
happens  at  home — God  forbid  that  I  should  pry  into 
matters  so  sacred  as  relations  between  a  boy  and  a  par- 
ent!— but  I  can  see,  my  boy,  that  something  is  wrong. 
You  are  not  yourself.  At  first  when  you  came  back  J 
thought  all  was  well  with  you;  you  were,  as  was  natural, 
sad  and  depressed,  but  I  should  not  wish  it  otherwise. 
But  of  late  a  change  has  come  over  you;  you  are  nervous 
and  excited;  you  have  gone  down  in  your  class,  not,  I 
can  see,  because  you  have  neglected  your  work,  but  be- 
cause you  cannot  bring  your  mind  to  bear  upon  it.  Now 
all  this  must  have  a  cause.  Perhaps  a  little  advice  on 
my  part  might  help  you.  We  shall  break  up  in  a  week, 
Ned,  and  I  shall  be  going  away  for  a  time.  I  should 
like  to  think  before  I  went  that  things  were  going  on 
better  with  you." 

"I  don't  want  to  say  anything  against  my  mother," 
Ned  said  in  a  low  voice.  "She  means  kindly,  sir;  but, 
oh!  it  is  so  hard  to  bear.  She  is  always  talking  about 
father,  not  as  you  would  talk,  sir,  but  just  as  if  he  were 
alive  and  might  come  in  at  any  moment,  and  it  seems 
sometimes  as  if  it  would  drive  me  out  of  my  mind." 

"No  doubt  it  is  trying,  my  boy,"  Mr.  Porson  said; 
"but  you  see  natures  differ,  and  we  must  all  bear  with 
each  other  and  make  allowances.  Your  mother's  nature, 
as  far  as  I  have  seen  of  her,  is  not  a  deep  one.  She  was 
very  fond  of  your  father,  and  she  is  fond  of  you;  but  you 
know,  just  as  still  waters  run  deep,  shallow  waters  are 
full  of  ripples,  and  eddies,  and  currents.  She  has  no 
idea  that  what  seems  natural  and  right  to  her  should  jar 
upon  you.  You  upon  your  part  can  scarcely  make  suffi- 
cient allowance  for  her  different  treatment  of  a  subject 
which  is  to  you  sacred.  I  know  how  you  miss  your  fa- 
ther, but  your  mother  must  miss  him  still  more.  No 
man  ever  more  lovingly  and  patiently  tended  a  woman 


104  TBRO  UGB  THK  FRA  T. 

than  he  did  her  so  far  as  lay  in  his  power.  She  had  not 
a  wish  ungratified.  You  have  in  your  work  an  employ- 
ment which  occupies  your  thoughts  and  prevents  them 
from  turning  constantly  to  one  subject;  she  has  nothing 
whatever  to  take  her  thoughts  from  the  past.  It  is  bet- 
ter for  her  to  speak  of  him  often  than  to  brood  over  him 
in  silence.  Your  tribute  to  your  father's  memory  is 
deep  and  silent  sorrow,  hers  is  frequent  allusions. 
Doubtless  her  way  jar  upon  you;  but,  Ned,  you  aro 
younger  than  she,  and  it  is  easier  for  you  to  change. 
Why  not  try  and  accept  her  method  as  being  a  part  of 
her,  and  try,  instead  of  wincing  every  time  that  she 
touches  the  sore,  to  accustom  yourself  to  it.  It  may  be 
hard  at  first,  but  it  will  be  far  easier  in  the  end." 
N,ed  stood  silent  for  a  minute  or  two;  then  he  said: 
"I  will  try,  sir.  My  father's  last  words  to  me  were  to 
be  kind  to  mother,  and  I  have  tried  hard,  and  I  will  go 
on  trying." 

"That  is  right,  my  boy;  and  ask  God  to  help  you.  We 
all  have  our  trials  in  this  life,  and  this  at  present  is 
yours;  pray  God  to  give  you  strength  to  bear  it." 


TBSOV&BXBBffBAT.  105 


CHAPTER  VIIL 

NED  IS  SORELY  TRIED. 

the  many  who  called  upon  Mrs.  Sankey  after 
the  death  of  her  husband  was  Mr.  Mulready,  the  owner 
of  a  mill  near  Marsden.  He  was  one  of  the  leading  men 
in  the  place,  although  his  mill  was  by  no  means  a  large 
one.  He  took  rank  in  the  eyes  of  the  little  town  with 
men  in  a  much  larger  way  of  business  by  means  of  a 
pushing  manner  and  a  fluent  tongue.  He  had  come  to 
be  considered  an  authority  upon  most  subjects.  He 
paid  much  attention  to  his  dress,  and  drove  the  fastest 
horse  and  the  best  got-up  gig  in  that  part  of  the  country; 
but  it  was  Mr.  Mulready's  manner  which  above  all  had 
raised  him  to  his  present  position  in  the  esteem  of  the 
good  people  of  Marsden.  He  had  the  knack  of  adapting 
himself  to  the  vein  of  those  he  addressed. 

With  the  farmers  who  came  into  market  he  was  bluff 
and  cordial;  with  the  people  in  general  he  was  genial 
and  good-tempered.  At  meetings  at  which  the  county 
gentry  were  present  he  was  quiet,  business-like,  and  a 
trifle  deferential,  showing  that  he  recognized  the  differ- 
ence between  his  position  and  theirs.  With  ladies  he 
was  gay  when  they  were  gay,  sympathetic  when  sympathy 
was  expected.  With  them  he  was  even  more  popular 
than  with  the  men,  for  the  latter,  although  they  admired 
and  somewhat  envied  his  varied  acquirements,  were  apt 


106  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  F. 

in  the  intimacy  of  private  conversation  to  speak  of  him 
as  a  humbug. 

There  was  one  exception,  however,  to  his  general  pop- 
ularity. There  was  no  mill-owner  in  the  neighborhood 
more  heartily  detested  by  his  workpeople;  but  as  these 
did  not  mingle  with  the  genteel  classes  of  Marsden  their 
opinion  of  Mr.  Mulready  went  for  nothing.  The  mill- 
owner  was  a  man  of  forty-three  or  forty-four,  although 
when  dressed  in  his  tightly-fitting  brown  coat  with  its 
short  waist,  its  brass  buttons,  and  high  collar,  and  with 
a  low  hat  with  narrow  brim  worn  well  forward  and  com- 
ing down  almost  to  the  bridge  of  his  nose,  he  looked 
seven  or  eight  years  younger. 

His  hair  was  light,  his  trimly  cut  mutton-chop  whiskers 
were  sandy,  he  had  a  bright,  fresh  complexion,  a  large 
mouth,  and  good  teeth,  which  he  always  showed  when 
he  smiled,  and  in  public  he  was  always  smiling;  his  eyes 
were  light  in  color,  very  close  together,  and  had  a  some- 
what peculiar  appearance.  Indeed  there  were  men  who 
hinted  that  he  had  a  slight  cast,  but  these  were,  no 
doubt,  envious  of  his  popularity.  Mrs.  Sankey  had  been 
flattered  by  his  visit  and  manner;  indeed  it  could  hardly 
have  been  otherwise,  for  he  had  expressed  a  sympathy 
and  deference  which  were  very  soothing  to  her. 

"It  is  indeed  kind  of  you  to  receive  me,"  he  had  said. 
"I  know,  of  course,  that  it  is  not  usual  for  a  man  who 
has  the  misfortune  to  be  unmarried  to  make  a  call  upon 
a  lady,  but  I  could  not  help  myself.  William  Mulready 
is  not  a  man  to  allow  his  feelings  to  be  sacrificed  to  the 
cold  etiquette  of  the  world.  I  had  not  the  pleasure  of 
the  acquaintance  of  that  most  brave  and  distinguished 
officer  your  late  husband.  I  had  hoped  that  some  day 
circumstances  might  throw  me  in  contact  with  him,  but 
it  was  not  for  me,  a  humble  manufacturer,  to  force  my 
acquaintance  upon  one  socially  my  superior;  but,  my 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  107 

dear  madam,  when  I  heard  of  that  terrible  accident,  of 
that  noble  self-devotion,  I  said  to  myself,  'William  Mill- 
ready,  when  a  proper  and  decent  time  elapses  you  must 
call  upon  the  relict  of  your  late  noble  and  distinguished 
townsman,  and  assure  her  of  your  sympathy  and  admira- 
tion, even  if  she  spurns  you  from  the  door.'  ' 

"You  could  not  think  I  should  do  that,  Mr.  Mulready," 
Mrs.  Sankey  said.  "It  is  most  gratifying  to  me  to  re- 
ceive this  mark  of  sympathy  in  my  present  sad  position;" 
and  she  sighed  deeply. 

"You  are  good  indeed  to  say  so,"  Mr.  Mulready  said 
in  a  tone  of  deep  gratitude;  "but  I  might  have  been 
sure  that  my  motives  at  least  would  not  be  misunder- 
stood by  a  high-bred  and  delicate  lady  like  yourself.  I 
will  not  now  trespass  on  your  time,  but  hope  that  I  may 
be  permitted  to  call  again.  Should  there  be  anything  in 
which  so  humble  an  individual  could  be  in  the  slightest 
degree  useful  to  you  pray  command  my  services.  I  know 
the  responsibility  which  you  must  feel  at  being  left  in 
charge  of  those  two  noble  boys  and  your  charming  little 
daughter  must  be  well-nigh  overwhelming,  and  if  you 
would  not  think  it  presumption  I  would  say  that  any 
poor  advice  or  opinion  which  I,  who  call  myself  in  some 
degree  a  man  of  the  world,  can  give,  will  be  always  at 
your  service." 

"You  are  very  good,"  MIS.  Sankey  murmured.  "It 
is  indeed  a  responsibility.  My  younger  boy  and  girl  are 
all  that  I  could  wish,  but  the  elder  is  already  almost  be- 
yond me;"  and  by  the  shake  of  her  head  she  testified 
that  her  troubles  on  that  score  approached  martyrdom. 

"Never  fear,  my  dear  madam,"  Mr.  Mulready  said 
heartily.  "Boys  will  be  boys,  and  I  doubt  not  that  he 
will  grow  up  everything  that  you  could  desire.  I  may 
have  heard  that  he  was  a  little  passionate.  There  was  a 
trifling  affair  between  him  and  his  schoolmaster,  waa 


108  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  Y. 

there  not?  But  these  things  mend  themselves,  and 
doubtless  all  will  come  well  in  time;  and  now  I  have  the 
honor  of  wishing  you  good-morning." 

"Charming  manners!"  Mrs.  Sankey  said  to  herself 
when  her  visitor  had  left.  "A  little  old-fashioned,  per- 
haps, but  so  kind  and  deferential.  He  seemed  to  under- 
stand my  feelings  exactly." 

That  evening  when  they  were  at  tea  Mrs.  Sankey  men- 
tioned the  agreeable  visitor  who  had  called  in  the  after- 
noon. 

"What!  William  Mulready!"  Ned  exclaimed;  "Foxey, 
as  his  hands  call  him.  I  have  heard  Bill  speak  of  him 
often.  His  men  hate  him.  They  say  he  is  a  regular 
tyrant.  What  impudence  his  coming  here!" 

"Ned,  I  am  surprised  at  you,"  his  mother  said  angrily. 
"I  am  sure  Mr.  Mulready  is  nothing  of  the  sort.  He  is 
a  most  kind  and  considerate  gentleman,  and  I  will  not 
allow  you  to  repeat  these  things  you  hear  from  the  low 
companions  whom  your  father  permitted  you  to  associate 
with." 

"Bill  is  not  a  low  companion,  mother,"  Ned  exclaimed 
passionately.  "A  better  fellow  never  stood,  and  Foxey 
is  not  kind  and  considerate.  He  is  a  brutal  tyrant,  and 
I  am  sure  my  father,  if  you  will  quote  his  opinion,  would 
not  have  had  such  a  man  inside  his  doors." 

"Leave  the  room,  Ned,  this  moment,"  his  mother  ex- 
claimed, more  angry  than  he  had  ever  seen  her  before. 
"I  am  ashamed  of  you  speaking  to  me  in  that  way.  You 
would  not  have  dared  to  do  it  had  your  father  been 
alive." 

Ned  dashed  down  his  scarcely-begun  bread  and  butter 
and  flung  himself  out  of  the  room,  and  then  out  of  the 
house,  and  it  was  some  hours  before  he  returned.  Then 
he  went  straight  up  to  his  mother's  room. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  mother,"  he  said  quietly.    "I  am 


THRO  UGH  THE  FBA  F.  109 

Yery  sorry  I  spoke  as  I  did.  I  ought  not  to  have  done 
BO." 

"Very  well,"  Mrs.  Sankey  said  coldly;  "then  don't  do 
it  again,  Ned." 

Without  another  word  Ned  went  off  to  his  books.  He 
was  grieved  and  sore  at  heart.  He  had  during  his  walk 
fought  a  hard  battle  with  himself,  and  had  conquered. 
As  his  temper  cooled  down  he  had  felt  that  he  had 
broken  his  promise,  that  he  had  not  been  kind  to  his 
mother;  felt,  too,  that  her  accusation  was  a  true  one — 
he  would  not  have  dared  to  speak  so  to  her  had  his  father 
been  alive. 

"But  it  was  so  different  then,"  he  had  said  to  himself 
as  the  tears  chased  each  other  down  his  cheeks.  "Father 
understood  me,  and  cared  for  me,  and  made  allowances. 
It  was  worth  while  fighting  against  one's  temper  just  to 
have  him  put  his  hand  on  my  shoulder  and  say,  'Well 
done,  my  boy.'  Now  it  is  so  different.  I  will  go  on 
trying  for  his  sake;  but  I  know  it's  no  good.  Do  what  I 
will,  I  can't  please  her.  It's  my  fault,  I  dare  say,  but  I 
do  try  my  best.  I  do,  indeed,  father,"  he  said,  speaking 
out  loud;  "if  you  can  hear  me,  I  do,  indeed,  try  to  be 
kind  to  mother,  but  she  won't  let  me.  I  do  try  to  make 
allowances,  that  is,  when  I  am  not  in  a  passion,  and  then 
I  go  and  spoil  it  all,  like  a  beast,  just  as  I  did  to-night. 
Anyhow,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he  turned  his  face  home- 
ward again,  "I  will  go  and  tell  her  I  am  sorry,  and  beg 
her  pardon.  I  don't  suppose  she  will  be  nice,  but  I  can't 
help  that.  It's  my  duty  anyhow,  and  I  will  try  and  not 
say  anything  against  Foxey  next  time  she  speaks  of  him." 

The  latter  part  of  his  resolution  Ned  found  it  very 
hard  to  maintain,  for  Mr.  Mulready  became  a  not  unfre- 
quent  visitor.  He  had  always  some  excuse  for  calling, 
either  to  bring  in  a  basket  of  fresh  trout,  some  game,  or 
hot-house  fruit,  for,  as  he  said,  he  knew  her  appetite  was 


THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  T. 

delicate  and  needed  tempting,  or  some  book  newly  issued 
from  the  London  press  which  he  was  sure  she  would 
appreciate- 
After  a  short  time  Mrs.  Sankey  ceased  to  speak  of 
these  visits,  perhaps  because  she  saw  how  Ned  objected 
to  the  introduction  of  Mr.  Mulr  eady's  name,  perhaps  for 
some  other  reason,  and  a  year  passed  without  Ned's  being 
seriously  ruffled  on  the  subject. 

Ned  was  now  nearly  sixteen.  He  had  worked  hardj 
and  was  the  head-boy  at  Person's.  It  had  always  been 
regarded  as  a  fixed  thing  that  he  should  go  into  the 
army,,  As  the  son  of  an  officer  who  had  lost  his  leg  in 
the  service  it  was  thought  that  he  would  be  able  to  obtain 
a  commission  without  difficulty,  and  Squire  Simmonds, 
who  had  been  a  kind  friend  since  his  father's  death,  had 
promised  to  ask  the  lord-lieutenant  of  the  county  to  in- 
terest himself  in  the  matter,  and  had  no  doubt  that  the 
circumstances  of  Captain  Sankey's  death  would  be  con- 
sidered as  an  addition  to  the  claim  of  his  services  in  the 
army. 

Captain  Sankey  had  intended  that  Ned  should  have 
gone  to  a  superior  school  to  finish  his  education,  but  the 
diminished  income  of  the  family  had  put  this  out  of  the 
question,  and  the  subject  had  never  been  mooted  after 
his  death.  Ned,  however,  felt  that  he  was  making  such 
good  progress  under  Mr.  Person  that  he  was  well  content 
to  remain  where  he  was. 

His  struggle  with  his  temper  had  gone  on  steadily, 
-,and  he  hoped  he  had  won  a  final  victory  over  it.  Mr. 
Porson  had  been  unwearied  in  his  kindnesses,  and  often 
took  Ned  for  an  hour  in  the  evening  in  order  to  push 
him  forward,  and  although  he  avoided  talking  about  his 
home  life  the  boy  felt  that  he  could,  in  case  of  need, 
pour  out  his  heart  to  him;  but,  indeed,  things  had  gone 
better  at  home.  Mrs.  Sankey  was  just  as  indisposed  as 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  7.  HI 

ever  to  take  any  share  whatever  in  the  trouble  of  house- 
keeping, but  as  Abijah  was  perfectly  capable  of  keeping 
the  house  in  order  without  her  instructions  things  went 
on  smoothly  and  straightly  in  this  respect. 

In  other  matters  home  life  was  more  pleasant  than  it 
had  been.  Mrs.  Sankey  was  less  given  to  querulous  com- 
plaining, more  inclined  to  see  things  in  a  cheerful  light, 
and  Ned  especially  noticed  with  satisfaction  that  the 
references  to  his  father  which  had  so  tried  him  had  be- 
come much  less  frequent  of  late. 

One  day  in  September,  when  his  father  had  been  dead 
just  a  year,  one  of  the  town  boys,  a  lad  of  about  Ned's 
age,  said  to  him  as  they  were  walking  home  from  school 
together: 

"Well,  Ned,  I  suppose  I  ought  to  congratulate  you, 
although  I  don't  know  whether  you  will  see  it  in  that 
light." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Ned  said.  "I  don't  know  that 
anything  has  happened  on  which  I  should  be  particularly 
congratulated,  except  on  having  made  the  top  score 
against  the  town  last  week." 

"Oh!  I  don't  mean  that,"  the  boy  said.  "1  mean 
about  Mulready." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Ned  said,  stopping  short  and 
turning  very  white. 

"Why,"  the  lad  said  laughing,  "all  the  town  says  he 
is  going  to  marry  your  mother." 

Ned  stood  as  if  stupefied.  Then  he  sprang  upon  his 
companion  and  seized  him  by  the  throat. 

"It's  a  lie,"  he  shouted,  snaking  him  furiously.  "It's 
a  lie  I  say,  Smithers,  and  you  know  it.  I  will  kill  you 
if  you  don't  say  it's  a  lie." 

With  a  great  effort  Smithers  extricated  himself  from 
Ned's  grasp. 

"Don't  choke  a  fellow,"  he  said.    "It  may  be  a  lie  it 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  7. 

you  say  it  is,  but  it  is  not  my  lie  anyhow.  People  hare 
been  talking  about  it  for  some  time.  They  say  he's  been 
down  there  nearly  every  day.  Didn't  you  know  it?" 

"Know  it?"  Ned  gasped.  "I  have  not  heard  of  his 
being  in  the  house  for  months,  but  I  will  soon  find  out 
the  truth." 

And  without  another  word  he  dashed  off  at  full  speed 
up  the  street.  Panting  and  breathless  he  rushed  into 
the  house,  and  tore  into  the  room  where  his  mother  waa 
sitting  trifling  with  a  piece  of  fancy-work. 

"I  do  wish,  Edward,  you  would  not  come  into  the 
room  like  a  whirlwind.  You  know  how  any  sudden 
noise  jars  upon  my  nerves.  Why,  what  is  the  matter?" 
she  broke  off  suddenly,  his  pale,  set  face  catching  her 
eye,  little  accustomed  as  she  was  to  pay  any  attention  to 
Ned's  varying  moods. 

"Mother,"  he  panted  out,  "people  are  saying  an  awful 
thing  about  you,  a  wicked,  abominable  thing.  I  know, 
of  course,  it  is  not  true,  but  I  want  just  to  hear  you  say 
so,  so  that  I  can  go  out  and  tell  people  they  lie.  How 
dare  they  say  such  things!" 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean,  Edward?"  Mrs.  Sankey 
said,  almost  frightened  at  the  boy's  vehemence. 

"Why,  they  say  that  you  are  going  to  marry  that  hor- 
rible man  Mulready.  It  is  monstrous,  isn't  it?  I  think 
they  ought  to  be  prosecuted  and  punished  for  such  a 
wicked  thing,  and  father  only  a  year  in  his  grave." 

Mrs.  Sankey  was  frightened  at  Ned's  passion.  Ever 
since  the  matter  had  first  taken  shape  in  her  mind  she 
had  felt  a  certain  uneasiness  as  to  what  Ned  would  say 
of  it,  and  had,  since  it  was  decided,  been  putting  off 
from  day  to  day  the  telling  of  the  news  to  him.  She 
had,  in  his  absence,  told  herself  over  and  over  again  that 
it  was  no  business  of  his,  and  that  a  boy  had  no  right  to 
06  much  as  question  the  actions  of  his  mother;  but  some- 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  7.  115 

how  when  he  was  present  she  had  always  shrank  from 
telling  him.  She  now  took  refuge  in  her  usual  defense 
—tears. 

"It  is  shameful,"  she  said,  sobbing>  as  sh«  held  her 
handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  "that  a  boy  should  speak  in 
this  way  to  his  mother;  it  is  downright  wicked." 

"But  I  am  not  speaking  to  you,  mother;  I  am  speak- 
ing of  other  people — the  people  who  have  invented  this 
horrible  lie — for  it  is  a  lie,  mother,  isn't  it?  It  is  not 
possible  it  can  be  true?" 

"It  is  true,"  Mrs.  Sankey  said,  gaining  courage  from 
her  anger;  "it  is  quite  true.  And  you  are  a  wicked  and 
abominable  boy  to  talk  in  that  way  to  me.  Why  shouldn't 
I  marry  again?  Other  people  marry  again,  and  why 
shouldn't  I?  I  am  sure  your  poor  father  would  never 
have  wished  me  to  waste  my  life  by  remaining  single, 
with  nothing  to  do  but  to  look  after  you  children.  And 
it  is  shameful  of  you  to  speak  in  that  way  of  Mr.  Mul- 
ready." 

Ned  stopped  to  hear  no  more.  At  her  first  words  he 
had  given  a  low,  gasping  cry,  as  one  who  has  received  a 
terrible  wound.  The  blood  flew  to  his  head,  the  room 
swam  round,  and  he  seemed  to  feel  the  veins  in  his  tem- 
ples swell  almost  to  bursting.  The  subsequent  words  of 
his  mother  fell  unheeded  on  his  ears,  and  turning  rouad 
he  went  slowly  to  the  door,  groping  his  way  as  one  half- 
asleep  or  stupefied  by  a  blow.  Mechanically  he  opened 
the  door  and  went  out  into  the  street;  his  cap  was  still 
on  his  head,  but  he  neither  thoght  of  it  one  way  or  the 
other. 

Almost  without  knowing  it  he  turned  from  the  town 

and  walked  toward  the  hills.     Had  any  one  met  him  by 

•  the  way  they  would  assuredly  have  thought  that  the  boy 

had  been  drinking,  so  strangely  and  unevenly  did  he 

walk.    His  face  was  flushed  almost  purple,  his  eyes  were 


114  THRO  UQH  THE  FRA  7. 

bloodshot;  he  swayed  to  and  fro  as  he  walked,  sometimes 
pausing  altogether,  sometimes  hurrying  along  for  a  few 
steps.  Passing  a  field  where  the  gate  stood  open  he 
turned  into  it,  kept  on  his  way  for  some  twenty  yards  fur- 
ther, and  then  fell  at  full  length  on  the  grass.  There 
he  lay  unconscious  for  some  hours,  and  it  was  not  until 
tha  evening  dews  were  falling  heavily  that  he  sat  up  and 
looked  round. 

For  some  time  he  neither  knew  where  he  was  nor  what 
had  brought  him  there.  At  last  the  remembrance  of 
what  had  passed  flashed  across  him,  and  with  a  cry  of 
"Father!  father!"  he  threw  himself  at  full  length  again 
with  his  head  on  his  arm;  but  this  time  tears  came  to 
his  relief,  and  for  a  long  time  he  cried  with  a  bitterness 
of  grief  even  greater  than  that  which  he  had  suffered  at 
his  father's  death.  The  stars  were  shining  brightly  when 
he  rose  to  his  feet,  his  clothes  were  soaked  with  dew, 
and  he  trembled  with  cold  and  weakness. 

"What  am  I  to  do?"  he  said  to  himself;  "what  am  I 
to  do?"  He  made  his  way  back  to  the  gate  and  leaned 
against  it  for  some  time;  then,  having  at  last  made  up 
his  mind,  he  turned  his  back  on  the  town  and  walked 
toward  Varley,  moving  more  slowly  and  wearily  than  if 
he  was  at  the  end  of  a  long  and  fatiguing  day's  walk. 
Slowly  he  climbed  the  hill  and  made  his  way  through 
the  village  till  he  reached  the  Swintons'  cottage.  He 
tapped  at  the  door  with  his  hand,  and  lifting  the  latch 
he  opened  the  door  a  few  inches. 

"Bill,  are  you  in?"  There  was  an  exclamation  of 
surprise. 

"Why,  sure-ly,  it's  Maister  Ned!"  and  Bill  came  to 
the  door. 

"Come  out,  Bill,  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

Much  surprised  at  the  low  and  subdued  tone  in  which 


THRO  UGH  THE  VRA  F.  115 

Ned  spoke,  Bill  snatched  down  his  cap  from  the  peg  by 
the  door  and  joined  him  outside. 

"What  be't,  Maister  Ned?  what  be  t'  matter  with 
thee?  Has  owt  gone  wrong?" 

Ned  walked  on  without  speaking.  In  his  yearning  for 
sympathy,  in  his  intense  desire  to  impart  the  miserable 
news  to  some  one  who  would  feel  for  him,  he  had  come 
to  his  friend  Bill.  He  had  thought  first  of  going  to  Mr. 
Person.  But  though  his  master  would  sympathize  with 
him  he  would  not  be  able  to  feel  as  he  did;  he  would  no 
doubt  be  shocked  at  hearing  that  his  mother  was  so  soon 
going  to  marry  again,  but  he  would  not  be  able  to  under- 
stand the  special  dislike  to  Mr.  Mulready,  still  less  likely 
to  encourage  his  passionate  resentment.  Bill  would,  he 
knew,  do  both,  for  it  was  from  him  he  had  learned  how 
hated  the  mill-owner  was  among  his  people.  But  at 
present  he  could  not  speak.  He  gave  a  short  wave  of 
his  hand  to  show  that  he  heard,  but  could  not  answer 
yet,  and  with  his  head  bent  down  made  his  way  out  through 
the  end  of  the  village  on  to  the  moor — Bill  following 
him,  wondering  and  sympathetic,  unable  to  conjecture 
what  had  happened.  Presently,  when  they  had  left  the 
houses  far  behind  them,  Ned  stopped. 

"What  be't,  Maister  Ned?"  Bill  again  asked,  laying 
his  strong  hand  upon  Ned's  shoulder;  "tell  oi  what  it 
be.  Hast  got  in  another  row  with  t'  maister?  If  there 
be  owt  as  oi  can  do,  thou  knowest  well  as  Bill  Swinton 
be  with  thee  he<*rt  and  soul." 

"I  know,  Bill — I  know,"  Ned  said  in  a  broken  voice, 
"but  you  can  do  nothing;  I  can  do  nothing;  no  one  can. 
But  it's  dreadful  to  think  of.  It's  worse  than  if  I  had 
killed  twenty  masters.  Only  think — only  think,  Bill, 
my  mother's  going  to  marry  Mnlready!" 

"Thou  doesn't  say  so,  lad!  What!  thy  mother  marry 
Foxey!  Oi  never  heer'd  o'  such  a  thing.  Well,  that  be 


116  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

bad  news,  surely!  Well,  well,  only  to  think,  now!  Poor 
lad!  Well,  that  beats  all!" 

The  calamity  appeared  so  great  to  Bill  that  for  some 
time  no  idea  occurred  to  him  which  could,  under  the 
circumstances,  be  considered  as  consolatory.  But  Ned 
felt  the  sympathy  conveyed  in  the  strong  grasp  of  his 
shoulder,  and  in  the  muttered  "Well,  well,  now!"  to 
which  Bill  gave  vent  at  intervals. 

"What  bee'st  going  to  do  vor  to  stop  it?"  he  asked  at 
last. 

"What  can  I  do,  Bill?  She  won't  listen  to  me — she 
never  does.  Anything  I  say  always  makes  her  go  the 
other  way.  She  wouldn't  believe  anything  I  said  against 
him.  It  would  only  make  her  stick  to  him  all  the  more." 

"Do'st  think,"  Bill  suggested  after  another  long  pause, 
"that  if  we  got  up  a  sort  of  depitation — Luke  Marner 
and  four  or  five  other  steady  chaps  as  knows  him;  yes, 
and  Polly  Powlett,  she  could  do  the  talking — to  go  to 
her  and  tell  her  what  a  thundering  bad  un  he  is — dost 
think  it  would  do  any  good?" 

Even  in  his  bitter  grief  Ned  could  hardly  help  smiling 
at  the  thought  of  such  a  deputation  waiting  upon  his 
mother. 

"No,  it  wouldn't  do,  Bill." 

Bill  was  silent  again  for  some  time. 

"Dost  want  un  killed,  Maister  Ned?"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice  at  last;  "'cause  if  ye  do  oi  would  do  it  for  ye.  Oi 
would  lay  down  my  life  for  ye  willing,  as  thou  knowst; 
and  hanging  ain't  much,  arter  all.  They  say  'tis  soon 
over  Anyhow  oi  would  chance  it,  and  perhaps  they 
wouldn't  find  me  out." 

Ned  grasped  his  friend's  hand. 

"I  could  kill  him  myself!"  he  exclaimed  passionately. 
"I  have  been  thinking  of  it;  but  what  would  be  the 
good?  I  know  what  my  mother  is — when  once  she  has 


THRO  UGH  THE  FSA  T.  117 

made  up  her  mind  there's  no  turning  her;  and  if  this 
fellow  were  out  of  the  way,  likely  enough  she  would  tak« 
up  with  another  in  no  time." 

"But  it  couldn't  been  as  bad  as  if  wur  Foxey,"  Bill 
urged,  "he  be  the  very  worsest  lot  about  Marsden." 

"I  would  do  it,"  Ned  said  passionately;  -"I  would  do 
it  over  and  over  again,  but  for  the  disgrace  it  would 
bring  on  Charlie  and  Lucy." 

"But  there  would  be  no  disgrace  if  oi  was  to  do  it, 
Maister  Ned."  . 

"Yes,  there  would,  Bill — a  worse  disgrace  than  if  I 
did  it  myself.  It  would  be  a  nice  thing  to  let  you  get 
hanged  for  my  affairs;  but  let  him  look  out — let  him  try 
to  ill-treat  Charlie  and  Lucy,  and  he  will  see  if  I  don't 
get  even  with  him.  I  am  not  so  much  afraid  of  that — 
it's  the  shame  of  the  thing.  Only  to  think  that  all 
Marsden  should  know  my  mother  is  going  to  be-  married 
again  within  a  year  of  my  father's  death,  and  that  aftei 
being  his  wife  she  was  going  to  take  such  a  man  as  this! 
It's  awful,  downright  awful,  Bill!" 

"Then  what  art.thou  going  to  do,  Maister  Ned — ruis 
away  and  'list  for  a  soldier,  or  go  to  sea?" 

"I  wish  I  could,"  Ned  exclaimed.  "I  would  turn  my 
back  on  Marsden  and  never  come  back  again,  were  it  not' 
for  the  little  ones.  Besides,"  he  added  after  a  pause, 
"father's  last  words  were,  'Be  kind  to  mother;'  and  she 
will  want  it  more  than  he  ever  dreamed  of." 

"She  will  that,"  Bill  agreed;  "leastways  unless  oi  be 
mistaken.  And  what  be'st  going  to  do  now,  lad?  Be'st 
agoing  whoam?" 

"No,  I  won't  go  home  to-night,"  Ned  replied.  "I 
must  think  it  over  quietly,  and  it  would  be  worse  to  bear 
there  than  anywhere  else.  No,  I  shall  just  walk  about." 

"Thou  canst  not  walk  abowt  all  night,  Maister  Ned," 
Bill  said  positively;  "it  bam't  to  bo  tho*,vt  of,  II  thou 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  7. 

don't  mind  thou  canst  have  moi  bed  and  oi  can  sleep  on 
t'  floor." 

"No,  I  couldn't  do  that,"  Ned  said,  "though  I  do 
feel  awfully  tired  and  done  up;  but  your  brothers  would 
be  asking  me  questions  and  wondering  why  I  didn't  go 
home.  I  could  not  stand  that." 

"No,  Maister  Ned,  oi  can  see  that  wouldn't  do;  but 
if  we  walk  about  for  an  hour  or  two,  or — no,  I  know  of  a 
better  plan.  We  can  get  in  at  t*  window  of  the  school; 
it  bain't  never  fastened,  and  bain't  been  for  years,  seeing 
as  thar  bain't  been  neither  school  nor  schoolers  since  auld 
Mother  Brown  died.  Oi  will  make  a  shift  to  loight  a 
fire  there.  There  be  shutters,  so  no  one  will  see  the 
loight.  Then  oi  will  bring  ee  up  some  blankets  from 
our  house,  and  if  there  bain't  enough  Polly  will  lend  me 
some  when  oi  tell  her  who  they  are  for.  She  bain't  a 
one  to  blab.  What  dost  thou  say?" 

Ned,  who  felt  utterly  worn  out,  assented  gladly  to  the 
proposal,  and  an  entrance  was  easily  effected  into  the 
desolate  cottage  formerly  used  as  a  day-school.  Bill  went 
off  at  once  and  soon  returned  with  a  load  of  firewood; 
the  shutters  were  then  carefully  closed,  and  a  fire  quickly 
blazed  brightly  on  the  hearth.  Bill  then  went  away 
again,  and  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  returned  with  Mary 
Powlett.  He  carried  a  bundle  of  rugs  and  blankets, 
while  she  had  a  kettle  in  one  hand  and  a  large  basket  in 
the  other. 

"Good-evening!  Master  Sankey,"  she  said  as  she  en- 
tered. "Bill  has  told  me  all  about  it,  and  I  am  sorry 
indeed  for  you  and  for  your  mother.  It  is  worse  for  her, 
poor  lady,  than  for  you.  You  will  soon  be  old  enough  to 
go  ©ut  into  the  world  if  you  don't  like  things  at  home; 
but  she  will  have  to  bear  what  trouble  comes  to  her. 
And  now  I  thought  you  would  like  a  cup  of  tea,  so  I 
have  brought  the  kettle  and  things  up.  I  haven't  had 


THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  F.  119 

tea  yet,  and  they  don't  have  tea  at  Bill's;  but  I  like  tt, 
though  feyther  grumbles  sometimes,  and  says  it's  too 
expensive  for  the  likes  of  us  in  sich  times  as  these;  but 
he  knows  I  would  rather  go  without  meat  than  without 
tea,  so  he  lets  me  have  it.  Bill  comes  in  for  a  cup  some- 
times, for  he  likes  it  better  than  beer,  and  it's  a  deal 
better  for  him  to  be  sitting  taking  a  cup  of  tea  with  me 
than  getting  into  the  way  of  going  down  to  the  'Spotted 
Dog,'  and  drinking  beer  there.  So  we  will  all  have  a 
cup  together.  No  one  will  disturb  us.  Feyther  is  down 
at  the  'Brown  Cow;'  and  when  I  told  the  children  I  had 
to  go  out  on  special  business  they  all  promised  to  be 
good,  and  Jarge  said  he  would  see  them  all  safely  into 
bed.  I  told  him  I  should  be  back  in  an  hour." 

While  Polly  was  speaking  she  was  bustling  about  the 
room,  putting  things  straight;  with  a  wisp  of  heather 
she  swept  up  the  dust  which  had  accumulated  on  the 
floor,  in  a  semicircle  in  front  of  the  fire,  and  laid  down 
the  rugs  and  blankets  to  form  seats.  Three  cups  and 
eaucers,  a  little  jug  of  milk,  a  teapot,  and  basin  of  sugar 
were  placed  in  the  center,  and  a  pile  of  slices  of  bread 
and  butter  beside  them,  while  from  a  paper-bag  she  pro- 
duced a  cake  which  she  had  bought  at  the  village  shop 
on  her  way  up. 

Ned  watched  her  preparations  listlessly. 

"You  are  very  good,  Polly,"  he  said,  "and  I  shall  b« 
very  glad  of  the  cup  of  tea,  but  I  cannot  eat  anything." 

"Never  mind,"  she  said  cheerfully.  "Bill  and  I  can 
do  the  eating,  and  perhaps  after  you  have  had  a  cup  of 
tea  you  will  be  able  to,  for  Bill  tells  me  you  have  had 
nothing  to  eat  since  breakfast." 

Ned  felt  cheered  by  the  warm  blaze  of  the  fire  and  by 
the  cheerful  sound  of  the  kettle,  and  after  taking  a  cup 
of  tea  found  that  his  appetite  was  coming,  and  was  soon 
able  to  eat  his  share.  Mary  Powlett  kept  up  a  cheerful 


120  13RO  UGH  TEE  FRA  T. 

talk  while  tha  meal  was  going  on,  and  no  allusion  was 
made  to  the  circumstances  which  had  brought  Ned  there. 
After  it  was  done  she  sat  and  chatted  for  an  hour.  Then 
she  said: 

"I  must  be  off  now,  and  I  think,  Bill,  you'd  best  be 
going  soon  too,  and  let  Maister  Ned  have  a  good  night  of 
it.  I  will  make  him  up  his  bed  on  the  rugs ;  and  I  will 
warrant,  after  all  the  trouble  he  has  gone  through,  he 
will  sleep  like  A 


VUUOUQU  THE  FRAY. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A    PAINFUL    TIME. 

WHEN  Ned  was  left  alone  he  rolled  himself  up  in  the 
blankets,  placed  a  pillow  which  Polly  had  brought  him 
tinder  his  head,  and  lay  and  looked  at  the  fire;  but  it 
was  not  until  the  flames  had  died  down,  and  the  last  red 
glow  had  faded  into  blackness  that  he  fell  off  to  sleep. 
His  thoughts  were  bitter  in  the  extreme.  He  pictured 
to  himself  the  change  which  would  take  place  in  his 
home  life  with  Mulready  the  manufacturer,  the  tyrant 
of  the  workmen,  ruling  over  it.  For  himself  he  doubted 
not  that  he  would  be  able  to  hold  his  own. 

"He  had  better  not  try  on  his  games  with  me,"  he 
muttered  savagely.  "Though  I  am  only  sixteen  he  won't 
find  it  easy  to  bully  me;  buj  of  course  Charlie  and  Lucy 
can't  defend  themselves.  However,  I  will  take  care  of 
them.  Just  let  him  be  unkind  to  them,  and  see  what 
comes  of  it!  As  to  mother,  she  must  take  what  she  gets, 
at  least  she  deserves  to.  Only  to  think  of  it!  only  to 
think  of  it!  Oh,  how  bitterly  she  will  come  to  repent! 
How  could  she  do  it! 

"And  with  father  only  dead  a  year!  But  I  must  stand 
by  her  too.  I  promised  father  to  be  kind  to  her,  though 
he  could  never  have  guessed  how  she  would  need  it.  He 
meant  that  I  would  only  put  up,  without  losing  my  tern' 
per,  with  her  way  of  always  pretending  to  be  ill,  and 
never  doing  anything  but  lie  on  the  sofa  and  read  poetry* 


122  THRO  UGH  TEE  FRA  T. 

Still,  of  course,  it  meant  I  was  to  be  kind  anyhow,  what- 
ever happened,  and  I  will  try  to  be  so,  though  it  is  hard 
when  she  has  brought  such  trouble  upon  us  all. 

"As  for  Mulready  I  should  like  to  burn  his  mill  down, 
or  to  breik  his  neck.  I  hate  him;  it's  bad  enough  to  be 
a  tyrant;  but  to  be  a  tyrant  and  a  hypocrite  too,  is  hor- 
rible. Well,  at  any  rate  he  shan't  lord  it  over  me;" 
and  so  at  last  Ned  dropped  off  to  sleep.  He  was  still 
soundly  asleep  when  Bill  Swinton  came  in  to  wake  him. 
It  was  half-past  six,  a  dull  October  morning,  with  a 
dreary  drizzling  rain.  Bill  brought  with  him  a  mug  of 
hot  tea  and  some  thick  slices  of  bread  and  butter.  Ned 
got  up  and  shook  himself. 

"What  o'clock  is  it,  Bill?" 

"Half -past  six-  the  chaps  went  off  to  t*  mill  an  hour 
gone;  oi've  kept  some  tea  hot  for  ee." 

"Thank  you,  Bill,  my  head  aches,  and  so  do  all  my 
bones,  and  I  feel  as  if  I  hadn't  been  asleep  all  night, 
although,  indeed,  I  must  have  slept  quite  as  long  as 
usual.  Can't  I  have  a  wash?" 

"Yes,"  Bill  said,  "thou  canst  come  to  our  place;  but 
thou  had  best  take  thy  breakfast  whilst  it  be  hot.  It  ull 
waken  thee  up  loike." 

Ned  drank  the  tea  and  ate  a  slice  of  bread  and  butter, 
and  felt  refreshed  thereat.  Then  he  ran  with  Bill  to  his 
cottage  and  had  a  wash,  and  then  started  for  the  town. 
It  was  eight  o'clock  when  he  reached  home.  Abijah  was 
at  the  door,  looking  down  the  road  as  he  came  up. 

"Oh!  Master  Ned,  how  can  you  go  on  so?  Not  a  bit 
of  sleep  have  I  had  this  blessed  night,  and  the  mistress 
in  strong  hystrikes  all  the  evening.  Where  have  you 
been?"  Ned  gave  a  grunt  at  the  news  of  his  mother's 
hysterics — a  grunt  which  clearly  expressed  "served  her 
right,"  but  he  only  answered  the  last  part  of  the  question. 

"I  have  been  up  at  Varley,  and  slept  at  the  school- 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  F. 

house.  Bill  Swinton  and  Polly  Powlctt  made  me  up  a 
bed  and  got  me  tea  and  breakfast.  I  am  right  enough." 

"But  you  shouldn't  have  gone  away,  Master  Ned,  in 
that  style,  leaving  us  to  wait  and  worry  ourselves  out  of 
our  senses." 

"Do  you  know  what  she  told  me,  Abijah?  Wasn't  it 
enough  to  make  any  fellow  mad?'* 

"Ay,  ay,"  the  nurse  said.  "I  ^know,  I  have  see'd  it 
coming  months  ago;  but  it  wasn't  no  good  for  me  to 
speak.  Ay,  lad,  it's  a  sore  trouble  for  you,  sure-ly  a  sore 
trouble  for  you,  and  for  us  all;  but  it  ain't  no  manner  of 
use  for  you  to  set  yourself  agin  it.  Least  said  sooner 
mended,  Master  Ned;  in  a  case  like  this  it  ain't  no  good 
your  setting  yourself  up  agin  the  missis.  She  ain't 
strong  in  some  things,  but  she's  strong  enough  in  her 
will,  and  you  ought  to  know  by  this  time  that  what  she 
sets  her  mind  on  she  gets.  It  were  so  allus  in  the  cap- 
tain's time,  and  if  he  couldn't  change  her,  poor  patient 
lamb — for  if  ever  there  were  a  saint  on  arth  he  was  that— 
you  may  be  sure  that  you  can't.  So  try  and  take  it  qui- 
etly, dearie.  It  be  main  hard  for  ye,  and  it  ain't  for  me 
to  say  as  it  isn't;  but  for  the  sake  of  peace  and  quiet, 
and  for  the  sake  of  the  little  ones,  Master  Ned,  it's  better 
for  you  to  take  it  quiet.  If  I  thought  as  it  would  do  any 
good  for  you  to  make  a  fuss  I  wouldn't  be  agin  it;  but 
it  ain't,  you  know,  and  it  will  be  worse  for  you  all  if  you 
sets  him  agin  you  to  begin  with.  Now  go  up  and  see 
your  mother,  dearie,  afore  you  goes  off  to  school.  I  have 
just  taken  her  up  her  tea." 

"I  have  got  nothing  to  say  to  her,"  Ned  growled. 

"Yes,  you  have,  Master  Ned;  you  have  got  to  tell  her 
you  hopes  she  will  be  happy.  You  can  do  that,  you 
know,  with  a  clear  heart,  for  you  do  hope  so.  Fortu- 
nately she  didn't  see  him  yesterday;  for  when  he  called 
I  told  him  she  was  too  ill  to  see  him,  and  a  nice  taking 


124  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  Y. 

she  was  in  when  I  told  her  he  had  been  and  gone;  but  I 
didn't  mind  that,  you  know,  and  it  was  better  she 
shouldn't  see  him  when  she  was  so  sore  about  the  words 
you  had  said  to  her.  It  ain't  no  use  making  trouble 
aforehand,  or  setting  him  agin  you.  He  knows,  I  reckon, 
as  he  won't  be  welcomed  here  by  you.  The  way  he  has 
always  come  when  you  would  be  out  showed  that  clear 
enough.  But  it  ain't  no  use  making  matters  worse.  It's 
a  pretty  kettle  of  fish  as  it  stands.  Now,  go  up,  dearie, 
like  a  good  boy,  and  make  things  roight." 

Ned  lingered  irresolute  for  a  little  time  in  the  hall, 
and  then  his  father's  words,  "Be  kind  to  her,"  came 
strongly  in  his  mind,  and  he  slowly  went  upstairs  and 
knocked  at  his  mother's  door. 

"Oh!  here  you  are  again!"  she  said  in  querulous  tones 
as  he  entered,  "after  being  nearly  the  death  of  me  with 
your  wicked  goings  on!  I  don't  know  what  you  will 
come  to,  speaking  to  me  as  you  did  yesterday,  and  then 
running  away  and  stopping  out  all  night." 

"It  was  wrong,  mother,"  Ned  said  quietly,  "and  I 
have  come  to  tell  you  I  am  sorry;  but  you  see  the  news 
was  very  sudden,  and  I  wasn't  prepared  for  it.  I  did 
not  know  that  he  had  been  coming  here,  and  the  news 
took  me  quite  by  surprise.  I  suppose  fellows  never  do 
like  their  mothers  marrying  again.  It  stands  to  reason 
they  wouldn't;  but,  now  I  have  thought  it  over,  I  am 
sorry  I  spoke  as  I  did,  and  I  do  hope,  mother,  you  will 
be  happy  with  him." 

Mrs.  Sankey  felt  mollified.  She  had  indeed  all  along 
dreaded  Ned's  hearing  the  news,  and  had  felt  certain  it 
would  produce  a  desperate  outbreak  on  his  part.  Now 
that  it  was  over  she  was  relieved.  The  storm  had  been 
no  worse  than  she  expected,  and  now  that  Ned  had  so 
speedily  come  round,  and  was  submissive,  she  felt  a  load 
gft  her  mind. 


TffRO  UGH  THE  FRA  Y.  125 

"Very  well,  Ned,"  she  said  more  graciously  than 
nsual,  "I  am  glad  that  you  have  seen  the  wickedness  of 
your  conduct.  I  am  sure  that  I  am  acting  for  the  best, 
and  that  it  will  be  a  great  advantage  to  you  and  your 
brother  and  sister  having  a  man  like  Mr.  Mulready  to 
help  you  push  your  way  in  life.  I  am  sure  I  am  think- 
ing of  your  interest  as  much  as  my  own;  and  I  have 
spoken  to  him  over  and  over  again  about  you,  and  he 
has  promised  dozens  of  times  to  do  his  best  to  be  like  a 
father  to  you  all."  Ned  winced  perceptibly. 

"All  right,  mother!  I  do  hope  you  will  be  happy;  but, 
please,  don't  let  us  talk  about  it  again  till — till  it  comes 
off;  and,  please,  don't  let  him  come  here  in  the  evening. 
I  will  try  and  get  accustomed  to  it  in  time;  but  you  see 
it's  rather  hard  at  first,  and  you  know  I  didn't  expect 
it." 

So  saying  Ned  left  the  room,  and  collecting  his  books 
made  his  way  off  to  school,  leaving  his  mother  highly 
satisfied  with  the  interview. 

His  absence  from  afternoon  school  had,  of  course,  been 
noticed,  and  Smithers  had  told  his  friends  how  Ned  had 
flown  at  him  on  his  speaking  to  him  about  the  talk  of  his 
mother  and  Mulready.  Of  course  before  afternoon  school 
broke  up  every  boy  knew  that  Ned  Sankey  had  cut  up 
rough  about  the  report;  and  although  the  great  majority 
of  the  boys  did  not  know  Mr.  Mulready  by  name  there 
was  a  general  feeling  of  sympathy  with  Ned.  The  cir- 
cumstances of  his  father's  death  had,  of  course,  exalted 
him  greatly  in  the  eyes  of  his  schoolfellows,  and  it  was 
the  unanimous  opinion,  that  after  having  had  a  hero  for 
his  father,  a  fellow  would  naturally  object  to  having  a 
stepfather  put  over  him. 

Ned's  absence  was  naturally  associated  with  the  news, 
and  caused  much  comment  and  even  excitement.  His 
attack  upon  Mr.  Hathorn  had  become  a  sort  of  historical 


126  THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  K 

incident  in  the  school,  and  the  younger  boys  looked  up 
with  a  sort  of  respectful  awe  upon  the  boy  who  had  de- 
fied a  head-master.  There  were  all  sorts  of  speculations 
rife  among  them  as  to  what  Ned  had  done,  there  being  a 
general  opinion  that  he  had  probably  killed  Mr.  Mul- 
readv,  and  the  debate  turning  principally  upon  the  man- 
ner in  which  this  act  of  righteous  vengeance  had  been 
performed. 

There  was,  then,  a  feeling  almost  of  disappointment 
when  Ned  walked  into  the  playground  looking  much  as 
usual,  except  that  his  face  was  pale  and  his  eyes  looked 
heavy  and  dull.  No  one  asked  him  any  questions;  foi? 
although  Ned  was  a  general  favorite,  it  was  generally 
understood  that  he  was  not  the  sort  of  fellow  to  be  asked 
questions  that  might  put  him  out.  When  they  went  in 
school,  and  the  first  class  was  called  up,  Ned,  who  was 
always  at  its  head,  took  his  place  at  the  bottom  of  the 
class,  saying  quietly  to  the  master: 

"I  have  not  prepared  my  lesson  to-day,  sir,  and  I  have 
not  done  the  exercises." 

Mr.  Person  made  no  remark;  he  saw  at  once  by  Ned's 
face  that  something  was  wrong  with  him.  When  several 
questions  went  round,  which  Ned  could  easily  have  an- 
swered without  preparation,  the  master  said: 

"You  had  better  go  to  your  desk,  Sankey;  I  see  you 
are  not  well.  I  will  speak  to  you  after  school  is  over." 

Ned  sat  down  and  opened  a  book,  but  he  did  not  turn  a 
page  until  school  was  over;  then  he  followed  his  master 
to  the  study. 

"Well,  my  boy,"  he  asked  kindly,  "what  is  it?" 

"My  mother  is  going  to  marry  Mr.  Mulready,"  Ned 
said  shortly.  The  words  seemed  to  come  with  difficulty 
from  his  lips. 

"Ah!  it  is  true,  then.  I  heard  the  report  some  weeks 
ago,  but  hoped  that  it  was  not  true.  I  am  sorry  for  you, 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  127 

Ned.  I  know  it  must  be  a  sore  trial  for  you;  it  is  always 
BO  when  any  one  steps  into  the  place  of  one  we  have  loved 
and  lost." 

"I  shouldn't  care  so  much  if  it  wasn't  him,"  Ned  said 
in  a  dull  voice. 

"But  there's  nothing  against  the  man,  is  there?"  Mr. 
Person  asked.  "I  own  I  do  not  like  him  myself;  but  I 
believe  he  stands  well  in  the  town." 

"Only  with  those  who  don't  know  him,"  Ned  replied; 
"his  work-people  say  he  is  the  worst  master  and  the  big- 
gest tyrant  in  the  district." 

"We  must  hope  it's  not  so  bad  as  that,  Ned;  still,  I 
am  sorry — very  sorry,  at  what  you  tell  me;  but,  my  boy, 
you  must  not  take  it  to  heart.  You  see  you  will  be  go- 
ing out  into  the  world  before  long.  Your  brother  will 
be  following  you  in  a  few  years.  It  is  surely  better  that 
your  mother  should  marry  again  and  have  some  one  to 
take  care  of  her." 

"Nice  care  of  her  he  is  likely  to  take!"  Ned  laughed 
bitterly.  "You  might  as  well  put  a  fox  to  take  care  of 
a  goose." 

"You  are  severe  on  both  parties,"  Mr.  Porson  said 
with  a  slight  smile;  "but  I  can  hardly  blame  you,  my 
boy,  for  feeling  somewhat  bitter  at  first;  but  I  hope  that, 
for  your  own  sake  and  your  mother's,  you  will  try  and 
conquer  this  feeling  and  will  make  the  best  of  the  cir- 
cumstances. It  is  worse  than  useless  to  kick  against  the 
pricks.  Any  show  of  hostility  on  your  part  will  only 
cause  unhappiness,  perhaps  between  your  mother  and 
him — almost  certainly  between  you  and  her.  In  this 
world,  my  boy,  we  have  all  our  trials.  Some  are  very 
heavy  ones.  This  is  yours.  Happily,  so  far  as  you  are 
concerned,  you  need  only  look  forward  to  its  lasting 
eighteen  months  or  so.  In  that  time  you  may  hope  to 
get  your  commission;  and  as  the  marriage  can  hardly 


128  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  7. 

take  place  for  some  little  time  to  come,  you  will  have 
but  a  year  or  so  to  bear  it." 

"I  don't  know,  sir,"  Ned  said  gloomily;  "everything 
seems  upset  now.  I  don't  seem  to  know  what  I  had  best 
do." 

"I  am  sure  at  present,  Ned,"  Mr.  Person  said  kindly 
—for  he  saw  that  the  boy  was  just  now  in  no  mood  for 
argument — "the  best  is  to  try  and  think  as  little  of  it  as 
possible.  Make  every  allowance  for  your  mother;  as  you 
know,  my  boy,  I  would  not  speak  disrespectfully  to  you 
of  her  on  any  account;  but  she  is  not  strqpg-minded, 
She  has  always  been  accustomed  to  lean  upon  some  one, 
and  the  need  of  some  one  to  lean  on  is  imperative  with 
her.  Had  you  been  a  few  years  older,  and  had  you  been 
staying  at  home,  it  is  probable  that  you  might  have  taken 
your  place  as  her  support  and  strength.  As  it  is,  it  was 
almost  inevitable  that  something  of  this  sort  would 
happen. 

"But  you  know,  Ned,  where  to  look  for  strength  and 
support.  You  have  fought  one  hard  battle,  my  boy,  and 
have  well-nigh  conquered;  now  you  have  another  before 
you.  Seek  for  strength,  my  boy,  where  you  will  assur- 
edly find  it,  and  remember  that  this  discipline  is  doubt- 
less sent  you  for  your  good,  and  that  it  will  be  a  prepa- 
ration for  you  for  the  struggle  in  after  life.  I  don't 
want  you  to  be  a  thoughtless,  careless  young  officer,  but  a 
man  earnest  in  doing  his  duty,  and  you  cannot  but  see  that 
these  two  trials  must  have  a  great  effect  in  forming  your 
character.  Remember,  Ned,  that  if  the  effect  be  not  for 
good,  it  will  certainly  be  for  evil." 

"1  will  try,  sir,"  Ned  said;  "but  I  know  it  is  easy  to 
make  good  resolutions,  and  how  it  will  be  when  he  is  in 
the  house  as  master  I  can't  trust  myself  even  to  think." 

"Well,  let  us  hope  the  best,  Ned,"  Mr.  Person  said 
kindly j  "things  may  turn  out  better  than  you  fear." 


THRO  UGH  TEE  FRA  Y,  129 

Then  seeing  that  further  talking  would  be  useless  now, 
he  shook  Ned's  hand  and  let  him  go. 

The  next  three  or  four  months  passed  slowly  and 
heavily.  Ned  went  about  his  work  again  quietly  and 
doggedly;  but  his  high  spirits  seemed  gone.  His  moth- 
er's engagement  with  Mr.  Mulready  had  been  openly 
announced,  directly  after  he  had  first  heard  of  it. 
Charlie  had,  to  Ned's  secret  indignation,  taken  it  qui- 
etly. He  knew  little  of  Mr.  Mulready,  who  had,  when- 
ever he  saw  him,  spoken  kindly  to  him,  and  who  now 
made  him  frequent  presents  of  books  and  other  things 
dear  to  schoolboys.  Little  Lucy's  liking  he  had,  how- 
ever, failed  to  gain,  although  in  his  frequent  visits  he 
had  spared  no  pains  to  do  so,  seldom  coming  without 
bringing  with  him  cakes  or  papers  of  sweets.  Lucy  ac- 
cepted the  presents,  but  did  not  love  the  donor,  and 
confided  to  Abijah  that  his  teeth  were  exactly  like  those 
of  the  wolf  who  ate  Little  Red  Eiding  Hood. 

Ned  found  much  more  comfort  in  her  society  during 
those  dull  days  than  in  Charlie's.  He  had  the  good 
sense,  however,  never  to  encourage  her  in  her  expressions 
of  dislike  to  Mr.  Mulready,  and  even  did  his  best  to  com- 
bat her  impression,  knowing  how  essential  it  was  for  her 
to  get  on  well  with  him.  Ned  himself  did  not  often  see 
Mr.  Mulready  during  that  time.  The  first  time  that 
they  met,  Ned  had,  on  his  return  from  school,  gone 
straight  up  into  the  drawing-room,  not  knowing  that 
Mr.  Mulready  was  there.  On  opening  the  door  and  see- 
ing him  he  paused  suddenly  for  a  moment  and  then  ad- 
vanced. For  a  moment  neither  of  them  spoke,  then  Mr. 
Mulready  said  in  his  frankest  manner: 

"Ned,  you  have  heard  I  am  going  to  marry  your 
mother.  I  don't  suppose  you  quite  like  it;  it  wouldn't 
be  natural  if  you  did;  I  know  I  shouldn't  if  I  were  in 
your  place.  Still  you  know  your  disliking  it  won't  alter 


130  THRO  UGH  TEE  FRA  T. 

it,  and  I  hope  we  shall  get  on  well  together.  Give  me 
your  hand,  my  lad,  you  won't  find  me  a  bad  sort  of 
fellow." 

"I  hope  not/'  Ned  said  quietly,  taking  Mr.  Mulready's 
hand  and  continuing  to  hold  it  while  he  went  on:  "I 
don't  pretend  I  like  it,  and  I  know  it  makes  no  differ- 
ence whether  I  do  or  not;  the  principal  point  is,  that  my 
mother  should  be  happy,  and  if  you  make  her  happy  I 
have  no  doubt  we  shall,  as  you  say,  get  on  well  together; 
if  you  don't,  we  shan't." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  threat  conveyed  in  Ned's 
steady  tones,  and  Mr.  Mulready,  as  Ned  dropped  his 
hand,  felt  that  he  should  have  more  trouble  with  the  boy 
than  he  had  expected.  He  gave  a  forced  laugh. 

"One  would  think,  Ned,  that  you  thought  it  likely  I 
was  going  to  be  unkind  to  your  mother." 

"No,"  Ned  said  quietly,  "I  don't  want  to  think  about 
it  one  way  or  the  other,  only  I  promised  my  father  I 
would  be  kind  to  my  mother;  that  means  that  I  would 
look  after  her,  and  I  mean  to.  Well,  mother,"  he  said 
in  his  usual  tone,  turning  to  Mrs.  Sankey,  "and  how  are 
you  this  morning?" 

"I  was  feeling  better,  Ned,"  she  said  sharply;  "but 
your  unpleasant  way  of  talking,  and  your  nonsense  about 
taking  care  of  me,  have  made  me  feel  quite  ill  again. 
Somehow  you  always  seem  to  shake  my  nerves.  You 
never  seem  to  me  like  other  boys.  One  would  think  I 
was  a  child  instead  of  being  your  mother.  I  thought 
after  what  you  said  to  me  that  you  were  going  to  behave 
nicely." 

"I  am  trying  to  behave  nicely,"  Ned  said.  "I  am 
sure  I  meant  quite  nidely,  just  as  Mr.  Mulready  does;  I 
think  he  understands  me." 

"I  don't  understand  that  boy,"  Mrs.  Sankey  said 
plaintively  when  Ned  had  left  the  room,  "and  I  never 


THRO  UOH  THE  FBA  Y.  131 

have  understood  him.  He  was  dreadfully  spoiled  when 
he  was  in  India,  as  I  have  often  told  you;  for  in  my  weak 
state  of  health  I  was  not  equal  to  looking  after  him,  and 
his  poor  father  was  sadly  overindulgent.  But  he  has 
certainly  been  much  better  as  to  his  temper  lately,  and  I 
do  hope,  William,  that  he  is  not  going  to  cause  trouble." 

"Oh,  no!"  Mr.  Mulready  said  lightly,  "he  will  not 
cause  trouble;  I  have  no  doubt  we  shall  get  on  well  to- 
gether. Boys  will  be  boys,  you  know;  I  have  been  one 
myself,  and  of  course  they  look  upon  stepfathers  as  nat- 
ural enemies;  but  in  this  case,  you  see,  we  shall  not  have 
to  put  up  with  each  other  long,  as  he  will  be  getting  his 
commission  in  a  year  or  so.  Don't  trouble  yourself 
about  it,  love;  in  your  state  of  health  you  ought  really 
not  to  worry  yourself,  and  worry,  you  know,  spoils  the 
eyes  and  the  complexion,  and  I  cannot  allow  that,  for 
you  will  soon  be  my  property  now." 

The  wedding  was  fixed  for  March.  It  was  to  be  per- 
fectly quiet,  as  Mrs.  Sankey  would,  up  to  the  day,  be 
still  in  mourning.  A  month  before  the  time  Ned  no- 
ticed that  his  mother  was  more  uncertain  in  her  temper 
than  usual,  and  Abijah  confided  to  him  in  secret  that 
she  thought  things  were  not  going  on  smoothly  between 
the  engaged  couple. 

Nor  were  they.  Mr  Mulready  had  discovered,  to  his 
surprise,  that,  indolent  and  silly  as  Mrs.  Sankey  was  in 
many  respects,  she  was  not  altogether  a  fool,  and  was 
keen  enough  where  her  own  interests  were  concerned. 
He  had  suggested  something  about  settlements,  hoping 
that  she  would  at  once  say  that  these  were  wholly  unnec- 
essary; but  to  his  surprise  she  replied  in  a  manner  which 
showed  that  she  had  already  thought  the  matter  over,  and 
had  very  fixed  ideas  on  the  subject. 

"Of  course,"  she  said,  "that  will  be  necessary.  I 
know  nothing  about  business,  but  it  was  done  before, 


132  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  Y. 

and  my  poor  husband  insisted  that  my  little  fortune 
should  be  settled  so  as  to  be  entirely  at  my  own  disposal." 

But  this  by  no  means  suited  Mr.  Mulready's  views. 
Hitherto  want  of  capital  had  prevented  his  introducing 
the  new  machinery  into  his  mills,  and  the  competition 
with  the  firms  which  had  already  adopted  it  was  injuring 
him  seriously,  and  he  had  reckoned  confidently  upon  the 
use  of  Mrs.  Sankey's  four  thousand  pounds.  Although 
he  kept  his  temper  admirably  under  the  circumstances, 
he  gave  her  distinctly  to  understand,  in  the  pleasantest 
way,  that  an  arrangement  which  was  most  admirably 
suitable  in  every  respect  in  the  case  of  a  lady  marrying 
an  officer  in  the  army,  to  whom  her  capital  could  be  of 
no  possible  advantage,  was  altogether  unsuitable  in  the 
case  of  a  manufacturer. 

"You  see,  my  love,"  he  argued,  "that  it  is  for  your 
benefit  as  well  as  mine  that  the  business  should  grow  and 
flourish  by  the  addition  of  the  new  machinery  which  this 
little  fortune  of  yours  could  purchase.  The  profits  could 
be  doubled  and  trebled,  and  we  could  look  forward  ere 
long  to  holding  our  heads  as  high  as  the  richest  manu- 
facturers at  Leeds  and  Bradford — while  the  mere  interest 
in  this  money  invested  in  consols  as  at  present  would  be 
absolutely  useless  to  us." 

Mrs.  Sankey  acknowledged  the  force  of  his  argument, 
but  was  firm  in  her  determination  to  retain  her  hold  oi 
her  money,  and  so  they  parted,  not  in  anger,  for  Mr. 
Mulready  altogether  disclaimed  the  possibility  of  his 
being  vexed,  but  with  the  sense  that  something  like  a 
barrier  had  sprung  up  between  them. 

This  went  on  for  a  few  days,  and  although  the  subject- 
was  not  mooted,  Mrs.  Sankey  felt  that  unless  some  con- 
cession on  her  part  was  made  it  was  likely  that  the  match 
would  fall  through.  This  she  had  not  the  slightest  idea 
of  permitting,  and  rather  than  it  should  happen  she 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T,  133 

would  have  married  without  any  settlement  at  all,  for 
she  really  loved,  in  her  weak  way,  the  man  who  had  been 
so  attentive  and  deferential  to  her. 

So  one  day  the  subject  was  renewed,  and  at  last  an  un- 
derstanding was  arrived  at.  Mrs.  Sankey's  money  was 
to  be  put  into  the  business  in  her  own  name.  Should 
she  not  survive  her  husband,  he  was  to  have  the  option 
of  paying  the  money  to  her  children  or  of  allowing  them 
the  sum  of  eighty  pounds  a  year  each  from  the  business. 
Should  he  not  survive  her  the  mill  was  to  be  settled  upon 
any  children  she  might  have  after  her  marriage;  should 
there  be  no  children  it  was  to  be  hers  absolutely. 

All  this  was  only  arrived  at  after  several  long  discus- 
sions, in  all  of  which  Mrs.  Sankey  protested  that  she 
knew  nothing  of  business,  that  it  was  most  painful  to 
her  to  be  thus  discussing  money  matters,  and  that  it 
would  be  far  better  to  leave  it  in  the  hands  of  a  solicitor 
to  arrange  in  a  friendly  manner  with  him.  She  never- 
theless stuck  to  her  views,  and  drove  a  bargain  as  keenly 
and  shrewdly  as  any  solicitor  could  have  done  for  her,  to 
the  surprise  and  exasperation  of  Mr.  Mulready.  Had  he 
known  that  she  really  loved  him,  and  would,  if  she  had 
been  driven  to  it,  have  sacrificed  everything  rather  than 
lose  him,  he  could  have  obtained  very  different  terms; 
but  having  no  heart  to  speak  of,  himself,  he  was  igno- 
rant of  the  power  he  possessed  over  her. 

Bankruptcy  stared  him  in  the  face  unless  he  could  ob- 
tain this  increase  of  capital,  and  he  dared  not,  by  pressing 
the  point,  risk  its  loss.  The  terms,  he  told  himself, 
were  not  altogether  unsatisfactory;  it  was  not  likely  that 
she  would  survive  him.  They  were  of  about  the  same 
age;  he  had  never  known  what  it  was  to  be  ill,  and  she, 
although  not  such  an  invalid  as  she  fancied  herself,  was 
still  not  strong.  If  she  did  not  survive  him  he  would 
have  the  whole  business,  subject  only  to  the  paltry  an- 


134  THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  T. 

nuity  of  two  hundred  and  forty  pounds  a  year  to  the 
three  children.  If,  the  most  unlikely  thing  in  the  world, 
she  did  survive  him — well,  it  mattered  not  a  jot  in  that 
case  who  the  mill  went  to. 

So  the  terms  were  settled,  the  necessary  deeds  were 
drawn  up  by  a  solicitor,  and  signed  by  both  parties. 
Mrs.  Sankey  recovered  her  spirits,  and  the  preparations 
for  the  wedding  went  on.  Ned  had  intended  to  absent 
himself  from  the  ceremony,  but  Mr.  Person,  guessing 
that  such  might  be  his  intention,  had  talked  the  matter 
gravely  over  with  him.  He  had  pointed  out  to  Ned  that 
his  absence  would  in  the  first  place  be  an  act  of  great 
disrespect  to  his  mother;  that  in  the  second  place  it 
would  cause  general  comment,  and  would  add  to  the  un- 
favorable impression  which  his  mother's  early  remarriage 
had  undoubtedly  created;  and  that,  lastly,  it  would  jus- 
tify Mr.  Mulready  in  regarding  him  as  hostile  to  the 
marriage,  and,  should  trouble  subsequently  arise,  he 
would  be  able  to  point  to  it  in  self-justification,  and  as  a 
proof  that  Ned  had  from  the  first  determined  to  treat 
him  as  an  enemy. 

So  Ned  was  present  at  his  mother's  marriage.  Quiet 
as  the  wedding  was,  for  only  two  or  three  acquaintances 
were  asked  to  be  present,  the  greater  part  of  Marsden 
were  assembled  in  the  church. 

The  marriage  had  created  considerable  comment.  The 
death  of  Captain  Sankey  in  saving  a  child's  life  had  ren- 
dered his  widow  an  object  of  general  sympathy,  and  peo- 
ple felt  that  not  only  was  this  marriage  within  eighteen 
months  of  Captain  Sankey's  death  almost  indecent,  but 
that  it  was  somehow  a  personal  wrong  to  them,  and  that 
they  had  been  defrauded  in  their  sympathy. 

Therefore  the  numerous  spectators  of  the  marriage 
were  critical  rather  than  approving.  They  could  find 
nothing  to  find  fault  with,  however,  in  the  bride's  ap- 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  7.  135 

pearance.  She  was  dressed  in  a  dove-colored  silk,  and 
with  her  fair  hair  and  pale  complexion  looked  quite 
young,  and,  as  every  one  admitted,  pretty.  Mr.  Mul- 
ready,  as  usual,  was  smiling,  and  seemed  to  convey  by 
the  looks  which  he  cast  round  that  he  regarded  the  as- 
semblage as  a  personal  compliment  to  himself. 

Lucy  and  Charlie  betrayed  no  emotion  either  way; 
they  were  not  pleased,  but  the  excitement  of  the  affair 
amused  and  interested  them,  and  they  might  be  said  to 
be  passive  spectators.  Ned,  however,  although  he  had 
brought  himself  to  be  present,  could  not  bring  himseli 
to  look  as  if  the  ceremony  had  his  approval  or  sanction. 
He  just  glared,  as  Abijah,  who  was  present,  afterward 
confided  to  some  of  her  friends,  as  if  he  could  have  killed 
the  man  as  he  stood.  His  look  of  undisguised  hostility 
was  indeed  noticed  by  all  who  were  in  church,  and 
counted  heavily  against  him  in  the  days  which  were  to 
come. 


THRO  UOH  THE  FMAt , 


CHAPTER  X. 

TROUBLES  AT  HOME. 

IT  was  not  one  of  the  least  griefs  of  the  young  Sankeys 
connected  with  their  mother's  wedding  that  Abijah  was 
to  leave  them.  It  was  she  herself  who  had  given  notice 
to  Mrs.  Sankey,  saying  that  she  would  no  longer  be  re- 
quired. The  first  time  that  she  had  spoken  of  her  in- 
tentions, M  rs.  Sankey  vehemently  combated  the  idea, 
saying  that  neither  she  nor  Lucy  could  spare  her;  but 
she  did  not  afterward  return  to  the  subject,  and  seemed 
to  consider  it  a  settled  thing  that  Abijah  intended  to 
leave.  Mrs.  Sankey  had,  in  fact,  spoken  to  Mr.  Mulready 
on  the  subject,  but  instead  of  taking  the  view  she  had 
expected,  he  had  said  cheerfully: 

"I  am  glad  that  she  has  given  notice.  I  know  that 
she  is  a  valuable  woman  and  much  attached  to  you.  At 
the  same  time  these  old  servants  always  turn  out  a  mis- 
take under  changed  circumstances.  She  would  never 
have  been  comfortable  or  contented.  She  has,  my  dear 
if  I  may  say  so,  been  mistress  too  long,  and  as  I  intend 
you  to  be  mistress  of  my  house,  it  is  much  better  that 
she  should  go." 

As  Mrs.  Sankey  had  certain  doubts  herself  as  to  whether 
Abijah  would  be  a  success  in  the  new  home,  the  subject 
was  dropped,  and  it  became  an  understood  thing  that 
Abijah  would  leave  after  the  wedding. 

The  newly  married  couple  were  absent  for  three  weeks. 
Until  two  days  before  their  return  Abijah  remained  in 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  F.  13? 

the  old  house  with  the  young  Sankeys;  then  they  moved 
into  their  new  home,  and  she  went  off  to  her  native  vil- 
lage ten  miles  distant  away  on  the  moors.  The  next  day 
there  was  a  sale  at  the  old  house.  A  few,  a  very  few,  of 
the  things  had  been  moved.  Everything  else  was  sold, 
to  the  deep  indignation  of  Ned,  who  was  at  once  grieved 
and  angry  that  all  the  articles  of  furniture  which  he  as- 
sociated with  his  father  should  be  parted  with.  Abijah 
shared  the  boy's  feelings  in  this  respect,  and  at  the  sale 
all  the  furniture  and  fittings  of  Captain  Sankey's  study 
were  bought  by  a  friendly  grocer  on  her  behalf,  and  the 
morning  after  the  sale  a  badly  written  letter,  for  Abijah's 
education  had  been  neglected,  was  placed  in  Ned's  hand. 

"MY  DEAR  MASTER  NED:  Knowing  as  it  cut  you  to 
the  heart  that  everything  should  go  away  into  the  hands 
of  strangers,  I  have  made  so  bold  as  to  ask  Mr.  Willcox 
for  to  buy  all  the  furniter  and  books  in  maister's  study. 
He  is  a-going  to  stow  them  away  in  a  dry  loft,  and  when 
so  bee  as  you  gets  a  home  of  your  own  there  they  is  for 
you;  they  are  sure  not  to  fetch  much,  and  when  you  geta 
a  rich  man  you  can  pay  me  for  them;  not  as  that  matter* 
at  all  one  way  or  the  other.  I  have  been  a-saving  up 
pretty  nigh  all  my  wages  from  the  day  as  you  was  born, 
and  is  quite  comfortable  off.  Write  me  a  letter  soon, 
dearie,  to  tell  me  as  how  things  is  going  on.  Your  affec- 
tionate nurse,  ABIJAH  WOLF." 

Although  Ned  was  a  lad  of  sixteen,  he  had  a  great  cry 
over  this  letter,  but  it  did  him  good,  and  it  was  with  a 
softer  heart  that  he  prepared  to  receive  his  mother  and 
her  husband  that  evening. 

The  meeting  passed  off  better  than  he  had  anticipated. 

Mrs.  Mulready  was  really  affected  at  seeing  her  chil- 
dren again,  and  embraced  them,  Ned  thought,  with  more 
fondness  than  she  had  done  when  they  went  away.  Mr. 
Mulreauy  spoke  genially  and  kindly,  and  Ned  began  to 
hope  that  things  would  not  be  so  bad  after  all. 


138  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  F. 

The  next  morning,  to  his  surprise,  his  mother  appeared 
at  breakfast,  a  thing  which  he  could  not  remember  that 
she  had  ever  done  before,  and  yet  the  hour  was  an  early 
one,  as  her  husband  wanted  to  be  off  to  the  mill.  Dur- 
ing the  meal  Mr.  Mulready  spoke  sharply  two  or  three 
times,  and  it  seemed  to  Ned  that  his  mother  was  nerv- 
ously anxious  to  please  him. 

"Things  are  not  going  on  so  well  after  all,"  he  said  to 
himself  as  he  walked  with  his  brother  to  school.  "Mother 
has  changed  already;  I  can  see  that  she  isn't  a  bit  like 
herself.  There  she  was  fussing  over  whether  he  had 
enough  sugar  with  his  tea,  and  whether  the  kidneys  were 
done  enough  for  him;  then  her  coming  down  to  break- 
fast was  wonderful.  I  expect  she  has  found  already  that 
somebody  else's  will  besides  her  own  has  got  to  be  con- 
sulted; it's  pretty  soon  for  her  to  have  begun  to  learn 
the  lesson." 

It  was  very  soon  manifest  that  Mr.  Mulready  was  mas- 
ter in  his  own  house.  He  still  looked  pleasant  and 
smiled,  for  his  smile  was  a  habitual  one;  but  there  was  a 
sharpness  in  the  ring  of  his  voice,  an  impatience  if  every- 
thing was  not  exactly  as  he  wished.  He  roughly  silenced 
Charlie  and  Lucy  if  they  spoke  when  he  was  reading  his 
paper  at  breakfast,  and  he  spoke  snappishly  to  his  wife 
when  she  asked  him  a  question  on  such  occasions.  Ned 
felt  his  face  burn,  as  with  his  eyes  on  his  plate  he  con- 
tinued his  meal.  To  him  Mr.  Mulready  seldom  spoke 
unless  it  was  absolutely  necessary. 

Ned  often  caught  himself  wondering  over  the  change 
•which  had  taken  place  in  his  mother.  All  the  ways  and 
habits  of  an  invalid  had  disappeared.  She  not  only  gave 
directions  for  the  management  of  the  house,  but  looked 
after  everything  herself,  and  was  forever  going  upstairs 
and  down,  seeing  that  everything  was  properly  done. 
However  sharply  Mr.  Mulready  spoke  she  never  replied 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  F.  139 

in  the  same  tone.  A  little  flush  of  color  would  come 
into  her  cheek,  but  she  would  pass  it  off  lightly,  and  at 
all  times  she  appeared  nervously  anxious  to  please  him. 
Ned  wondered  much  over  the  change. 

"He  is  a  tyrant,"  he  said,  "and  she  has  learned  it 
already;  but  I  do  think  she  loves  him.  Fancy  my  mother 
coming  to  be  the  slave  of  a  man  like  this!  I  suppose," 
he  laughed  bitterly,  "it's  the  story  of  'a  woman,  a  dog, 
and  a  walnut  tree,  the  more  you  thrash  them  the  better 
they  will  be.'  My  father  spent  his  whole  life  in  making 
hers  easy,  and  in  sparing  her  from  every  care  and  trouble, 
and  I  don't  believe  she  cared  half  as  much  for  him  as  she 
does  for  this  man  who  is  her  master.*' 

For  some  months  Mr.  Mulready  was  very  busy  at  his 
mill.  A  steam-engine  was  being  erected,  new  machinery 
brought  in,  and  he  was  away  the  greater  part  of  his  time 
superintending  it. 

One  day  at  breakfast,  a  short  time  before  all  was  in 
readiness  for  a  start  with  the  new  plant,  Mr.  Mulready 
opened  a  letter  directed  in  a  sprawling  and  ill-written 
hand  which  lay  at  the  top  of  the  pile  by  his  plate.  Ned 
happened  to  notice  his  face,  and  saw  the  color  fade  out 
from  it  as  he  glanced  at  the  contents.  The  mouth  re- 
mained as  usual,  set  in  a  smile,  but  the  rest  of  the  face 
expressed  agitation  and  fear.  The  hand  which  held  the 
letter  .shook.  Mrs.  Mulready,  whose  eyes  seldom  left 
her  husband's  face  when  he  was  in  the  room,  also  noticed 
the  change. 

"Is  anything  the  matter,  William?" 

"Oh!  nothing,"  he  said  with  an  unnatural  laugh, 
"only  a  little  attempt  to  frighten  me." 

"An  attempt  which  has  succeeded,"  Ned  said  to  him- 
self, "whatever  it  is." 

Mr.  Mulready  passed  the  letter  over  to  his  wife.  It 
•was  a  rough  piece  of  paper;  at  the  top  was  scrawled  th» 
outline  of  a  coffin,  underneath  which  was  written: 


140  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  Y. 

"MR.  MULREADY:  Sir,  this  is  to  give  you  warning 
that  if  you  uses  the  new  machinery  you  are  a  dead  man. 
You  have  been  a  marked  man  for  a  long  time  for  your 
tyrannical  ways,  but  as  long  as  you  didn't  get  the  new 
machinery  we  let  you  live;  but  we  has  come  to  the  end 
of  it  now;  the  day  as  you  turns  on  steam  we  burns  your 
to  the  ground  and  shoots  you,  so  now  you  knows  it." 

At  the  bottom  of  this  was  signed  the  words  "Captain 


"Oh!  William,"  Mrs.  Mulready  cried,  "you  will  never 
do  it!  You  will  never  risk  your  life  at  the  hands  of  these 
terrible  people!" 

All  the  thin  veneer  of  politeness  was  cracked  by  this 
blow,  and  Mr  Mulready  said  sullenly: 

"Nice  thing  indeed;  after  I  have  married  to  get  this 
money,  and  then  not  to  be  able  to  use  it!" 

His  wife  gave  a  little  cry. 

"It's  a  shame  to  say  so,"  Charlie  burst  out  sturdily. 

Mr.  Mulready's  passion  found  a  vent.  He  leaped  up 
and  seized  the  boy  by  the  collar  and  boxed  his  ears  with 
all  his  force. 

In  an  instant  the  fury  which  had  been  smoldering  in 
Ned's  breast  for  months  found  a  vent.  He  leaped  to  his 
feet  and  struck  Mr.  Mulready  a  blow  between  the  eyes 
which  sent  him  staggering,  back  against  the  wall;  then 
he  caught  up  the  poker.  The  manufacturer  with  a  snarl 
like  that  of  an  angry  wild  beast  was  about  to  rush  at 
him,  but  Ned's  attitude  as  he  stood,  poker  in  hand, 
checked  him. 

"Stand  back,"  Ned  said  threateningly,  "or  I  will  strike 
you.  You  coward  and  bully;  for  months  I  have  put  up 
with  your  tyrannizing  over  Charlie  and  Lucy,  but  touch 
either  of  them  again  if  you  dare.  You  think  that  you 
are  stronger  than  I  am  —  so  you  are  ever  so  much;  but 
you  lay  a  finger  on  them  or  on  me,  and  I  warn  you,  if  I 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T  141 

wait  A  month  for  an  opportunity  I  will  pay  you  for  it,  if 
you  kill  me  afterward." 

Mrs.  Mulready's  screams  had  by  this  time  brought  the 
servants  into  the  room,  and  they  stood  astonished  at  the 
spectacle. 

Lucy  crying  bitterly  had  run  to  Ned  and  thrown  her 
arms  round  him,  begging  him  to  be  quiet.  Charlie, 
hardly  recovered  from  the  heavy  blows  he  had  received, 
was  crying  too.  Mr.  Mufready  as  pale  as  death  was  glar- 
ing at  Ned,  while  his  wife  had  thrown  herself  between 
them.  Mr.  Mulready  was  the  first  to  recover  himself. 

"This  is  a  nice  spectacle/'  he  said  to  the  servants. 
"You  see  that  boy  has  attacked  me  with  the  poker  and 
might  have  murdered  me.  However,  you  can  go  now, 
and  mind,  no  chattering  about  what  you  have  seen.  And 
now,"  he  continued  to  Ned  as  the  door  closed  behind 
the  servants,  "out  of  this  house  you  go  this  day." 

"You  don't  suppose  I  want  to  stay  in  your  house," 
Ned  said  passionately.  "You  don't  suppose  that  it's 
any  pleasure  to  me  to  stop  here,  seeing  you  play  the 
tyrant  over  my  mother." 

"Oh,  Ned,  Ned,"  Mrs.  Mulready  broke  in,  "how  can 
you  talk  so!'* 

"It  is  true,  mother,  he  is  a  tyrant  to  you  as  well  as  to 
every  one  else;  but  I  don't  mean  to  go,  I  mean  to  stop 
here  to  protect  you  and  the  children.  He  daren't  turn 
me  out;  if  he  did,  I  would  go  and  work  in  one  of  the 
mills,  and  what  would  the  people  of  Marsden  say  then? 
What  would  they  think  of  this  popular,  pleasant  gentle- 
man then,  who  has  told  his  wife  before  her  children  that  he 
married  her  for  her  money?  They  shall  all  know  it,  never 
fear,  if  I  leave  this  house.  I  would  have  gone  to  Mr.  Sim- 
monds  and  asked  him  to  apply  for  a  commission  for  me 
before  now,  for  other  fellows  get  it  as  young  as  I  am;  but 
I  have  made  up  my  mind  that  it's  my  duty  not  to  do  so. 


THRO  UQH  THE  FRA  F. 

I  know  he  has  been  looking  forward  to  my  being  out  of 
the  way,  and  his  being  able  to  do  just  what  he  likes  with 
the  others,  but  I  ain't  going  to  gratify  him.  It's  plain 
to  me  that  my  duty  at  present  is  to  take  care  of  you  all, 
and  though  God  knows  how  I  set  my  mind  upon  going 
into  the  army  and  being  a  soldier  like  my  father,  I  will 
give  it  up  if  it  means  leaving  Charlie  here  under  him." 

"And  do  you  suppose,  sir,"  Mr.  Mulready  asked  with 
intense  bitterness,  "that  I  am  going  to  keep  you  here 
doing  nothing  all  your  life,  while  you  are  pleased  to 
watch  me?" 

"No,  I  don't,"  Ned  replied.  "I  shall  get  a  clerkship 
or  something  in  one  of  the  mills,  and  I  shall  have  Charlie 
to  live  with  me  until  he  is  old  enough  to  leave  school, 
and  then  I  will  go  away  with  him  to  America  or  some- 
where. As  to  mother,  I  can  do  nothing  for  her.  I 
think  my  being  here  makes  it  worse  for  her,  for  I  believe 
you  tyrannize  over  her  all  the  more  because  you  think  it 
hurts  me.  I  know  you  hated  me  from  the  first  just  as  I 
hated  you.  As  for  Lucy,  mother  must  do  the  best  she 
can  for  her.  Even  you  daren't  hit  a  girl." 

"Oh,  Ned,  how  can  you  go  on  so!'*  Mrs.  Mulready 
wailed.  "You  are  a  wicked  boy  to  talk  so." 

"All  right,  mother,"  Ned  replied  recklessly;  "if  I  am, 
I  suppose  I  am.  I  know  in  your  eyes  he  can  do  no 
wrong.  And  I  believe  if  he  beat  you,  you  would  think 
that  you  deserved  it."  So  he  flung  himself  down  in  his 
chair  and  continued  his  breakfast. 

Mr.  Mulready  drank  off  his  tea  without  sitting  down, 
and  then  left  the  room  without  another  word;  in  fact,  as 
yet  he  did  not  know  what  to  say. 

Almost  speechless  with  passion  as  he  was,  he  restrained 
himself  from  carrying  out  his  threat  and  turning  Ned  at 
once  from  the  house.  Above  all  things  he  prized  his 
position  and  popularity,  and  he  felt  that,  as  Ned  had 


THRO  UOE  THE  PR  A  F.  143 

said,  he  would  indeed  incur  a  heavy  odium  by  turning 
his  wife's  son  from  his  doors.  Captain  Sankey's  death 
had  thrown  almost  a  halo  over  his  children.  Mr.  Mul- 
ready  knew  that  he  was  already  intensely  unpopular 
among  the  operative  class,  but  he  despised  this  so  long 
as  he  stood  well  with  the  rest  of  the  townsmen;  but  he 
dared  not  risk  Ned's  going  to  work  as  an  ordinary  hand 
in  one  of  the  factories;  public  opinion  is  always  against 
etepfathers,  and  assuredly  this  would  be  no  exception. 
Hating  him  as  he  did,  he  dared  not  get  rid  of  this  inso- 
lent boy,  who  had  struck  and  defied  him.  He  cursed 
himself  now  with  his  rashness  in  letting  his  temper  get 
the  best  of  him  and  telling  his  wife  openly  that  he  had 
married  her  for  her  money;  for  this  in  Ned's  hands 
•would  be  a  serious  weapon  against  him. 

That  his  wife's  feelings  were  hurt  he  cared  not  a  jot, 
but  it  would  be  an  awkward  thing  to  have  it  repeated  in 
the  town.  Then  there  was  this  threatening  letter;  what 
was  he  to  do  about  that?  Other  men  had  had  similar 
warnings.  Some  had  defied  Captain  Lud,  and  fortified 
their  mills  and  held  them.  Many  had  had  their  property 
burned  to  the  ground;  some  had  been  murdered.  It 
wouldn't  be  a  pleasant  thing  to  drive  about  in  the  coun- 
try knowing  that  at  any  moment  he  might  be  shot  dead. 
His  mill  was  some  little  distance  out  of  the  town;  the 
road  was  dark  and  lonely.  He  dared  not  risk  it. 

Mr.  Mulready  was,  like  all  tyrants,  a  coward  at  heart, 
and  his  face  grew  white  again  as  he  thought  of  the  letter 
in  his  pocket.  In  the  meantime  Mrs.  Mulready  was 
alternately  sobbing  and  uprbaiding  Ned  as  he  quietly 
finished  his  breakfast.  The  boy  did  not  answer,  but  con- 
tinued his  meal  in  dogged  silence,  and  when  it  was  over 
collected  his  books  and  without  a  word  went  off  to  school. 

Weeks  went  on,  and  no  outwatd  change  took  place. 
Ned  continued  to  live  at  home.  Mr.  Mulrcudy  never  ad- 


144  THROUGH  THE  FRAY. 

dressed  him,  and  beyond  helping  him  to  food  entirely 
ignored  his  presence.  At  meal-times  when  he  opened 
his  lips  it  was  either  to  snap  at  Charlie  or  Lucy,  or  to 
snarl  at  his  wife,  whose  patience  astonished  Ned,  and 
who  never  answered  except  by  a  smile  or  murmured  ex- 
cuse. The  lad  was  almost  as  far  separated  from  her  now 
as  from  his  stepfather.  She  treated  him  as  if  he  only 
were  to  blame  for  the  quarrel  which  had  arisen.  They 
had  never  understood  each  other,  and  while  she  was 
never  weary  of  making  excuses  for  her  husband,  she 
could  make  none  for  her  son.  In  the  knowledge  that 
the  former  had  much  to  vex  him  she  made  excuses  for 
him  even  in  his  worst  moods.  His  new  machinery  was 
standing  idle,  his  business  was  getting  worse  and  worse, 
he  was  greatly  pressed  and  worried,  and  it  was  monstrous^ 
she  told  herself,  that  at  such  a  time  he  should  foe  troubled 
with  Ned's  defiant  behavior. 

A  short  time  before  the  school  Christmas  holidays  Ned 
knocked  at  the  door  of  Mr.  Porsoi  .'s  study.  Since  the 
conversation  which  they  had  had  when  first  Ned  heard 
of  his  mother's  engagement  Mr.  Person  had  seen  in  the 
lad's  altered  manner,  his  gloomy  looks,  and  a  hardness 
of  expression  which  became  more  and  more  marked  every 
week,  that  things  were  going  on  badly.  Ned  no  longer 
evinced  the  same  interest  in  his  work,  and  frequently 
neglected  it  altogether;  the  master,  however,  had  kept 
silence,  preferring  to  wait  until  Ned  should  himself 
broach  the  subject. 

"Well,  Sankey,  what  is  it?"  he  asked  kindly  as  the 
boy  entered. 

"I  don't  think  it's  any  use  my  going  on  any  longer, 
Mr.  Porson." 

"Well,  Sankey,  you  have  not  been  doing  yourself  much 
good  this  half,  certainly.  I  have  not  said  much  to  you 
about  it,  for  it  is  entirely  your  own  business:  you  know 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  145 

more  than  nineteen  out  of  twenty  of  the  young  fellows 
who  get  commissions,  so  that  if  you  choose  to  give  up 
work  it  is  your  own  affair." 

"I  have  made  up  my  mind  not  to  go  into  the  army/ 
Ned  said  quietly.     Mr.  Porson  was  silent  a  minute. 

"I  hope,  my  dear  lad,"  he  said,  "you  will  do  nothing 
.hastily  about  this.  Here  is  a  profession  open  to  you 
which  is  your  own  choice  and  that  of  your  father,  and  it 
should  need  some  very  strong  and  good  reason  for  you  to 
abandon  it.  Come  let  us  talk  the  matter  over  together, 
my  boy,  not  as  a  master  and  his  pupil,  but  as  two  friends. 

"You  know,  my  boy,  how  thoroughly  I  have  your  in- 
terest at  heart.  If  you  had  other  friends  whom  you 
could  consult  I  would  rather  have  given  you  no  advice, 
for  there  is  no  more  serious  matter  than  to  say  anything 
which  might  influence  the  career  of  a  young  fellow  just 
starting  in  life.  Terrible  harm  often  results  from  well- 
intentioned  advice  or  opinions  carelessly  expressed  tc- 
young  men  by  their  elders;  it  is  a  matter  which  few  men 
are  sufficiently  careful  about;  but  as  I  know  that  you 
have  no  friends  to  consult,  Ned,  and  as  I  regard  you 
with  more  than  interest,  I  may  say  with  affection,  I  think 
:.t  would  be  well  for  you  to  tell  me  all  that  there  is  in 
your  mind  before  you  take  a  step  which  may  wreck  your 
whole  life. 

"I  have  been  waiting  for  some  months  in  hopes  that 
you  would  open  your  mind  to  me,  for  I  have  seen  that 
you  were  unhappy;  but  it  was  not  for  me  to  force  your 
confidence." 

"I  dont  know  that  there's  much  to  tell,"  Ned  said 
wearily.  "Everything  has  happened  just  a&  it  was  cer- 
tain it  would  do.  Mulready  is  a  brute;  he  ill-treats  my 
mother,  he  ill-treats  Charlie  and  Lucy,  and  he  would  ill- 
treat  me  if  he  dared." 

All  this  is  bad,  Ned,"  Mr.  Porson  said  gravely  5  "but 


146  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

of  course  much  depends  upon  the  amount  of  his  ill- 
treatment.  I  assume  that  he  does  not  actively  ill-treat 
your  mother.'* 

"No,"  Ned  said  with  an  angry  look  in  his  face;  "and 
he'd  better  not." 

"Yes,  Ned,  he  had  better  not,  no  doubt,"  Mr.  Person 
said  soothingly;  "but  what  I  want  to  know,  what  it  is 
essential  I  should  know  if  I  am  to  give  you  any  advice 
worth  having,  is  what  you  mean  by  ill-treatment — is  he 
rough  and  violent  in  his  way  with  her?  deos  he  threaten 
her  with  violence?  is  he  coarse  and  brutal?" 

"No,"  Ned  said  somewhat  reluctantly;  "he  is  not  that, 
sir;  he  is  always  snapping  and  snarling  and  finding 
fault." 

"That  is  bad,  Ned,  but  it  does  not  amount  to  ill-treat- 
ment. When  a  man  it  put  out  in  business  and  things  go 
wrong  with  him  it  is  unhappily  too  often  his  custom  to 
vent  his  ill-temper  upon  innocent  persons;  and  I  fancy 
from  what  I  hear — you  know  in  a  little  place  like  this 
every  one's  business  is  more  or  less  known — Mr.  Mulready 
has  a  good  deal  to  put  him  out.  He  has  erected  new 
machinery  and  dare  not  put  it  to  work,  owing  as  I  hear — 
for  hehas  lain  the  documents  before  the  magistrates — for 
his  having  received  threatening  letters  warning  him 
•gainst  doing  so. 

This  is  very  trying  to  the  man.  Then,  Ned,  you 
will  excuse  my  saying  that  perhaps  he  is  somewhat 
tried  at  home.  It  is  no  pleasant  thing  for  a  man  to  have 
a  young  fellow  like  yourself  in  the  house  taking  up  an 
attitude  of  constant  hostility.  I  do  not  say  that  his  con- 
duct may  or  may  not  justify  it;  but  you  will  not  deny 
that  from  the  first  you  were  prepared  to  receive  him  as 
an  enemy  rather  than  as  a  friend.  I  heard  a  story  some 
weeks  ago  in  the  town,  which  emanated  no  doubt  from 
the  servants,  that  you  had  actually  struck  him." 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  Y.  147 

"He  hit  Charlie,  sir,"  Ned  exclaimed. 

"That  may  be,"  Mr.  Person  went  "on  gravely;  "and  I 
have  no  doubt,  Ned,  that  you  considered  then,  and  that 
you  consider  now,  that  you  were  acting  rightly  in  inter^. 
fering  on  behalf  of  your  brother.  But  I  should  question 
much  whether  in  such  a  matter  you  are  the  best  judge. 
You  unfortunately  began  with  a  very  strong  prejudice 
against  this  man;  you  took  up  the  strongest  attitude  of 
hostility  to  him;  you  were  prepared  to  find  fault  with 
everything  he  said  and  did;  you  put  yourself  in  the  posi- 
tion of  the  champion  of  your  mother,  brother,  and  sister 
against  him.  Under  such  circumstances  it  was  hardly 
possible  that  things  could  go  on  well.  Now  I  suppose, 
Ned,  that  the  idea  which  you  have  in  your  mind  in  de- 
ciding to  give  up  the  profession  you  have  chosen,  is  that 
you  may  remain  as  their  champion  and  protector  here," 

"Yes,  sir,"  Ned  said.  "Father  told  me  to  be  kind  to 
mother,  whatever  happened." 

"Quite  so,  mv  boy;  but  the  question  is,  Are  you  being 
kind?" 

Ned  looked  surprised. 

"That  you  intend  to  be  so,  Ned,  I  am  sure.  The 
question  is,  Are  you  going  the  right  way  to  work?  Is 
this  championship  that  you  have  taken  upon  yourself 
increasing  her  happiness,  or  is  it  not?" 

Ned  was  silent. 

"I  do  not  think  that  it  is,  Ned.  Your  mother  must 
be  really  fond  of  this  man  or  she  would  not  have  married 
him.  Do  you  think  that  it  conduces  to  the  comfort  of 
her  home  to  see  the  constant  antagonism  which  prevails 
between  you  and  him?  Is  it  not  the  fact  that  this  ill- 
temper  under  which  she  suffers  is  the  result  of  the  irri- 
tation caused  to  him  by  your  attitude?  Do  you  not  add 
to  her  burden  rather  than  relieve  it?" 

Ned  was  still  silent.    He  had  so  thoroughly  persuaded 


148  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  Y. 

himself  that  he  was  protecting  his  mother,  his  brother, 
and  sister  from  Mr.  Mulready  that  he  had  never  consid- 
ered the  matter  in  this  light. 

"Does  your  mother  take  his  part  or  yours  in  these 
quarrels,  Ned?" 

"She  takes  his  part,  sir,"  said  Ned  indignantly. 

"Very  well,  Ned;  that  shows  in  itself  that  she  does 
not  wish  for  your  championship,  that  in  her  eyes  the 
trouble  in  the  house  is  in  fact  caused  by  you.  You  must 
remember  that  when  a  woman  loves  a  man  she  makes  ex- 
cuses for  his  faults  of  temper;  his  irritable  moods,  sharp 
expressions,  and  what  you  call  snapping  and  snarling  do 
not  seem  half  so  bad  to  her  as  they  do  to  a  third  person, 
especially  when  that  third  person  is  her  partisan.  In- 
stead of  your  adding  to  her  happiness  by  renouncing  your 
idea  of  going  into  the  army,  and  of  deciding  to  remain 
here  in  some  position  or  other  to  take  care  of  her,  as,  I 
Suppose,  is  your  intention,  the  result  will  be  just  the 
contrary.  As  to  your  sister,  I  think  the  same  thing 
would  happen. 

"Your  mother  is  certainly  greatly  attached  to  her  and 
owing  to  her  changed  habits — for  I  understand  that  she 
is  now  a  far  more  active,  and  I  may  say,  Ned,  a  more 
sensible  woman  than  before  her  marriage — I  see  no  rea- 
son why  Lucy  should  not  be  happy  with  her,  especially 
if  the  element  of  discord — I  mean  yourself — were  out  of 
the  way.  As  to  Charlie,  at  the  worst  I  don't  think  that 
he  would  suffer  from  your  absence.  His  stepfather's 
temper  will  be  less  irritable;  and  as  Charlie  is  away  at 
school  all  day,  and  has  to  prepare  his  lessons  in  the  even- 
ing, there  is  really  but  slight  opportunity  for  his  step- 
father treating  him  with  any  active  unkindness,  even 
should  he  be  disposed  to  do  so. 

"Did  I  think,  my  boy,  that  your  presence  here  would 
be  likely  to  benefit  your  family  I  should  be  the  last  per- 


THROUGH  THE  FRAY.        ,  149 

son  to  advise  you  to  avoid  making  a  sacrifice  of  your  pri- 
vate wishes  to  what  you  consider  your  duty;  but  upoi? 
the  contrary  I  am  convinced  that  the  line  which  you 
have,  with  the  best  intention,  taken  up  has  been  alto- 
gether a  mistake,  that  your  stay  at  home  does  vastly 
more  harm  than  good,  and  that  things  would  go  on  very 
much  better  in  your  absence." 

This  was  a  bitter  mortification  for  Ned,  who  had  hith- 
erto nursed  the  idea  that  he  was  performing  rather  a 
heroic  part,  and  was  sacrificing  himself  for  the  sake  of 
his  mother. 

"You  don't  know  the  fellow  as  I  do,"  he  said  sullenly 
at  last. 

"I  do  not,  Ned;  but  I  know  human  nature,  and  I  kno\f 
that  any  man  would  show  himself  at  his  worst  under  such 
circumstances  as  those  in  which  you  have  placed  him, 
It  is  painful  to  have  to  say,  but  I  am  sure  that  you  hav« 
done  harm  rather  than  good,  and  that  things  will  get  on 
much  better  in  your  absence." 

"I  believe  he  is  quite  capable  of  killing  her,"  Ned  said 
passionately,  "if  he  wanted  her  out  of  the  way." 

"That  is  a  hard  thing  to  say,  Ned;  but  even  were  it  so, 
we  have  no  reason  for  supposing  that  he  does  want  her 
out  of  the  way.  Come,  Sankey,  I  am  sure  you  have 
plenty  of  good  sense.  Hitherto  you  have  been  acting 
rather  blindly  in  this  matter.  You  have  viewed  it  from 
one  side  only,  and  with  the  very  best  intentions  in  the 
world  have  done  harm  rather  than  good. 

"I  am  convinced  that  when  you  come  to  think  it  over 
you  will  see  that,  in  following  out  your  own  and  your 
father's  intenions  and  wishes  as  to  your  future  career, 
you  will  really  best  fulfil  his  last  injunctions  and  will 
show  the  truest  kindness  to  your  mother.  Don't  give 
me  any  answer  now,  but  take  time  to  think  it  over.  Try 
and  see  the  case  from  every  point  of  view,  and  I  think 


150  THROUGH  THE 

you  will  come  to  the  conclusion  that  what  I  have  been 
saying,  although  it  may  seem  rather  hard  to  you  at  first, 
is  true,  and  that  you  had  best  go  into  the  army,  as  you 
had  intended.  I  am  sure  in  any  case  yen  will  know  that 
what  I  have  said,  even  if  it  seema  unkind,  has  been  for 
your  good." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Person,"  Ned  replied ;  "  I  am  quite 
sure  of  that.  Perhaps  you  are  right,  and  I  have  been 
making  a  fool  of  myself  ail  along.  But  anyhow  I  will 
think  it  over." 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA7.  151 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE  NEW  MACHINERY. 

IT  is  rather  hard  for  a  lad  who  thinks  that  he  has  been 
behaving  somewhat  as  a  hero  to  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  he  has  been  making  a  fool  of  himself;  but  this  was 
the  result  of  Ned  Sankey's  cogitation  over  what  Mr. 
Person  had  said  to  him.  Perhaps  he  arrived  more  easily 
at  that  conclusion  because  he  was  not  altogether -unwill- 
ing to  do  so.  It  was  very  mortifying  to  allow  that  he 
had  been  altogether  wrong;  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
there  was  a  feeling  of  deep  pleasure  at  the  thought  that 
he  could,  in  Mr.  Person's  deliberate  opinion,  go  into  the 
army  and  carry  out  all  his  original  hopes  and  plans.  His 
heart  had  been  set  upon  this  as  long  as  he  could  remem- 
ber, and  it  had  been  a  bitter  disappointment  to  him  when 
he  had  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  it  was  his  duty  to 
abandon  the  idea.  He  did  not  now  come  to  the  conclu- 
sion hastily  that  Mr.  Person's  view  of  the  case  was  the 
correct  one;  but  after  a  fortnight's  consideration  he  went 
down  on  New  Year's  Day  to  the  school,  and  told  his 
master  that  he  had  made  up  his  mind. 

"I  see,  sir,"  he  said,  "now  that  I  have  thought  it  all 
over,  that  you  are  quite  right,  and  that  I  have  been  be- 
having like  an  ass,  so  I  shall  set  to  work  again  and  try 
and  make  up  the  lost  time.  I  have  only  six  months 
longer,  for  Easter  is  the  time  when  Mr.  SimmoDds  said 
that  I  should  be  old  enough,  and  he  will  write  to  the 


152  THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  7. 

lord-lieutenant,  and  I  suppose  that  in  three  months  after 
that  I  should  get  my  commission." 

"That  is  right,  Ned.  I  am  exceedingly  glad  you  have 
been  able  to  take  my  view  of  the  matter.  I  was  afraid 
you  were  bent  upon  spoiling  your  life,  and  I  am  heartily 
glad  that  you  have  been  able  to  see  the  matter  in  a  dif- 
ferent light." 

A  day  or  two  afterward  Ned  took  an  opportunity  of 
telling  his  mother  that  he  intended  at  Easter  to  remind 
Mr.  Simmonds  of  his  promise  to  apply  for  a  commission 
for  him;  and  had  he  before  had  any  lingering  doubt  that 
-the  decision  was  a  wise  one  it  would  have  been  dissipated 
by  the  evident  satisfaction  and  relief  with  which  the 
news  was  received;  nevertheless,  he  could  not  help  a 
feeling  of  mortification  at  seeing  in  his  mother's  face  the 
gladness  which  the  prospect  of  his  leaving  occasioned 
her. 

It  was  some  time  since  Ned  had  seen  his  friend  Bill 
Swinton,  for  Bill  was  now  regularly  at  work  in  Mr.  Mul- 
ready's  factory  and  was  only  to  be  found  at  home  in  the 
evening,  and  Ned  had  been  in  no  humor  for  going  out. 
He  now,  however,  felt  inclined  for  a  friendly  talk  again, 
and  the  next  Sunday  afternoon  he  started  for  Varley. 

"Well,  Maister  Ned,"  Bill  said  as  he  hurried  to  the 
door  in  answer  to  his  knock,  "it  be  a  long  time  surely 
sin  oi  saw  thee  last — well-nigh  six  months,  I  should  say." 

"It  is  a  long  time,  Bill,  but  I  haven't  been  up  to  any- 
thing, even  to  coming  up  here.  Put  on  your  cap  and 
we  will  go  for  a  walk  across  the  moors  together." 

In  a  few  seconds  Bill  joined  him,  and  they  soon  left 
the  village  behind. 

"Oi  thought  as  how  thou  didn't  feel  oop  to  talking 
loike,  Maister  Ned.  Oi  beared  tell  as  how  thou  did'st 
not  get  on  well  wi'  Foxey;  he  be  a  roight  down  bad  un,  he 
be;  it  were  the  talk  of  the  place  as  how  you  gived  him  a 


THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  F.  153 

clout  atween  t*  eyes,  and  oi  laughed  rarely  to  myself 
when  oi  seed  him  come  through  t'  mill  wi'  black  and 
blue  all  round  'em.  There  warn't  a  hand  there  but 
would  have  given  a  week's  pay  to  have  seen  it  done." 

"I  am  afraid  I  was  wrong,  Bill,"  Ned  said,  feeling 
ashamed  rather  than  triumphant  at  the  thought.  "I 
oughtn't  to  have  done  it,  but  my  beastly  temper  got  the 
best  of  it." 

"Doan't  say  that  Maister  Ned;  he  deserves  ten  toimes 
worse  nor  you  gived  him,  and  he  will  get  it  some  time  if 
he  doan't  mind.  Oi  tell  ee  there  be  lots  of  talk  of  him, 
and  Captain  Lud's  gang  be  a  getting  stronger  and 
stronger.  Oi  tell  ye,  t'  maisters  be  agoing  to  have  a  bad 
time  on  it  afore  long,  and  Foxey  be  sure  to  be  one  of  the 
first  served  out." 

"Well,  don't  you  have  anything  to  do  with  it,  Bill. 
You  know  I  have  told  you  over  and  over  again  that  no 
good  can  come  of  such  bad  doings,  and  that  the  men  will 
only  make  matters  much  worse  for  themselves.  My  fa- 
ther used  to  say  that  no  good  ever  came  of  mob  violence. 
They  may  do  some  harm  for  a  time,  but  it  is  sure  to 
recoil  on  their  own  heads." 

"Oi  doan't  ha*  nowt  to  do  wi?  it,"  Bill  replied,  "cause 
oi  told  yer  oi  wouldn't;  but  oi've  some  trouble  to  keep 
oot  o't.  Ye  see  oi  am  nointeen  now,  and  most  o*  t' 
chaps  o*  moi  age  they  be  in't;  they  meet  at  the  'Dog* 
nigh  every  noight,  and  they  drills  regular  out  on  t'  moor 
here,  and  it  doan't  seem  natural  for  oi  not  to  be  in  it, 
especial  as  moi  brothers  be  in  it.  They  makes  it  rough 
for  me  in  t'  village,  and  says  as  how  I  ain't  got  no  spirit, 
and  even  t'  girls  laughs  at  me." 

"Not  Polly  Powlett,  I  am  sure,  Bill." 

"No,  not  Polly,"  Bill  replied.  "She  be  a  different 
sort.  A*  together  it  be  a  bit  hard,  and  it  be  well  for  me 
as  oi'm  main  strong  and  tough,  for  oi  ha*  to  fight  pretty 


154  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  7. 

nigh  every  Saturday.  However,  oi  ha'  thrashed  pretty 
nigh  every  young  chap  in  Varley,  and  they  be  beginning 
now  to  leave  oi  alone." 

''That's  right,  Bill;  I  am  sure  I  have  no  right  to 
preach  to  you  when  I  am  always  doing  wrong  myself; 
still  I  am  quite  sure  you  will  be  glad  in  the  long  run  that 
you  had  nothing  to  do  with  King  Lud.  I  know  the 
times  are  very  hard,  but  burning  mills  and  murdering 
masters  are  not  the  way  to  make  them  better;  you  take 
my  word  for  that.  And  now  how  are  things  going  on  in 
Varley?" 

"No  great  change  here,"  Bill  replied.  'Tolly  Powlett 
hain't  made  up  her  moind  yet  atween  t'  chaps  as  is  arter 
her.  They  say  as  she  sent  John  Stukeley,  the  smith,  to 
the  roight  about  last  Sunday;  he  ha'  been  arter  her  vor 
the  last  year.  Some  thowt  she  would  have  him,  some 
didn't.  He  haj  laming,  you  see,  can  read  and  wroite 
foine,  and  ha"  got  a  smooth  tongue,  and  knows  how  to 
talk  to  gals,  so  some  thought  she  would  take  him;  oi 
knew  well  enough  she  wouldn't  do  nowt  of  the  koind, 
for  oi  ha'  heard  her  say  he  were  a  mischievous  chap,  and 
a  cuss  to  Varley.  Thou  know'st,  Maister  Ned,  they  do 
say,  but  in  course  oi  knows  nowt  about  it,  as  he  be  the 
head  of  the  Luddites  in  this  part  of  Yorkshire. 

"Luke  Marner  he  be  dead  against  King  Lud,  he  be, 
and  so  be  many  of  the  older  men  here;  it's  most  th« 
young  uns  as  takes  to  them  ways;  and  nateral,  Polly  she 
thinks  as  Luke  does,  or  perhaps,"  and  Bill  laughed,  "it's 
Polly  as  thowt  that  way  first,  and  Luke  as  thinks  as  she 
does.  However  it  be,  she  be  dead  set  agin  them,  and 
she's  said  to  me  jest  the  same  thing  as  thou'st  been 
a-saying;  anyhow,  it  be  sartain  as  Polly  ha'  said  no  to 
John  Stukeley,  not  as  she  said  nowt  about  it,  and  no  one 
would  ha'  known  aboot  it  ef  he  hadn't  gone  cussing  and 
swearing  down  at  the  'Dog.' 


THRO  UGH  TUB  FXA  7.  155 

"I  thinks,  Maister  Ned,  as  we  shall  ha'  trouble  afore 
long.  The  men  ha'  been  drilling  four  or  five  years  now, 
and  oi  know  as  they  ha'  been  saying,  What  be  the  good 
of  it  when  nowt  be  done  and  the  wages  gets  lower  and 
lower?  They  have  preachments  now  out  on  t'  moor  on 
Sunday,  and  the  men  comes  from  miles  round,  and  they 
tells  me  as  Stukeley  and  others,  but  him  chiefly,  goes  on 
awful  agin  t'  maisters,  and  says,  There's  Scripture  vor 
it  as  they  owt  to  smite  'em,  and  as  how  tyrants  owt  vor 
to  be  hewed  in  pieces." 

"The  hewing  would  not  be  all  on  one  side,  Bill,  you 
will  see,  if  they  begin  it.  You  know  how  easily  the  sol- 
diers have  put  down  riots  in  other  places." 

"That  be  true,"  Bill  said;  "but  they  doan't  seem  vor 
to  see  it.  Oi  don't  say  nowt  one  way  or  t'  other,  and  oi 
have  had  more  nor  half  a  mind  to  quit  and  go  away  till 
it's  over.  What  wi'  my  brothers  and  all  t'  other  young 
chaps  here  being  in  it,  it  makes  it  moighty  hard  vor  oi 
to  stand  off;  only  as  oi  doan't  know  what  else  vor  to  do, 
oi  would  go.  Oi  ha'  been  a-thinking  that  when  thou 
get'st  to  be  an  officer  oi'll  list  in  the  same  regiment  and 
go  to  the  wars  wi'  thee.  Oi  am  sick  of  this  loife  here." 

"Well,  Bill,  there  will  be  no  difficulty  about  that  if 
you  really  make  up  your  mind  to  it  when  the  time  comes. 
Of  course  I  should  like  to  have  you  very  much.  I  have 
heard  my  father  say  that  each  officer  has  a  soldier  as  his 
special  servant;  and  if  you  would  like  that,  you  see,  when 
we  were  alone  together  we  should  be  able  to  talk  about 
Varley  and  everything  here  just  as  we  do  now.  Then  I 
suppose  I  could  help  you  on  and  get  you  made  first  a  cor- 
poral and  then  a  sergeant." 

"Very  well,  Maister  Ned,  then  we  will  look  on  that  as 
being  as  good  as  settled,  and  as  soon  as  thou  gets  to  be 
an  officer  oi  will  go  as  one  of  your  soldiers." 

For  an  hour  they  walked  across  the  moor,  talking 


156  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  Y. 

about  a  soldier's  life,  Ned  telling  of  the  various  parts  oi 
the  world  in  which  England  was  at  that  time  engaged  in 
war,  and  wondering  in  which  of  them  they  would  first 
see  service.  Then  they  came  back  to  the  village  and 
there  parted,  and  Ned,  feeling  in  better  spirits  than  he 
had  been  from  the  day  when  he  first  heard  of  his  mother's 
engagement  to  Mr.  Mulready,  walked  briskly  down  to 
Marsden. 

For  a  time  matters  went  on  quietly.  Few  words  were 
exchanged  between  Ned  and  Mr.  Mulready;  and  although 
the  latter  could  not  but  have  noticed  that  Ned  was 
brighter  and  more  cheerful  in  his  talk,  he  was  brooding 
over  his  own  trouble,  and  paid  but  little  heed  to  it. 

The  time  was  fast  approaching  when  he  could  no 
longer  go  on  as  at  present.  The  competition  with  the 
mills  using  the  new  machinery  was  gradually  crushing 
him,  and  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  come  to  a  determiT 
nation  either  to  pluck  up  heart  and  to  use  his  new 
machines,  or  to  close  his  mill. 

At  last  he  determined  to  take  the  former  course  ana 
to  defy  King  Lud.  Other  manufacturers  used  steam, 
and  why  should  not  he?  It  was  annoying  to  him  in  the 
extreme  that  his  friends  and  acquaintances,  knowing 
that  he  had  fitted  the  mill  with  the  new  plant,  were 
always  asking  him  why  he  did  not  use  it. 

A  sort  of  uneasy  consciousness  that  he  was  regarded 
by  his  townsmen  as  a  coward  was  constantly  haunting 
him.  He  knew  in  his  heart  that  his  danger  was  greater 
than  that  of  others,  because  he  could  not  rely  on  his 
men.  Other  masters  had  armed  their  hands,  and  had 
turned  their  factories  into  strong  places,  soms  of  them 
even  getting  down  cannon  for  their  defense;  for,  as  a 
rule,  the  hands  employed  with  the  new  machinery  had 
no  objection  to  it,  for  they  were  able  to  earn  larger  wagei 
with  less  bodily  toil  than  before. 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  F.  157 

The  hostility  was  among  the  hands  thrown  out  of  em- 
ployment, or  who  found  that  they  could  now  no  longer 
make  a  living  by  the  looms  which  they  worked  in  their 
own  houses.  Hitherto  Mr.  Mulready  had  cared  nothing 
for  the  good-will  of  his  hands.  He  had  simply  regarded 
them  as  machines  from  whom  the  greatest  amount  of 
work  was  to  be  obtained  at  the  lowest  possible  price. 
They  might  grumble  and  curse  him  beneath  their  breaths; 
they  might  call  him  a  tyrant  behind  his  back,  for  this  he 
cared  nothing;  but  he  felt  now  that  it  would  have  been 
better  had  their  relations  been  different;  for  then  he 
could  have  trusted  them  to  do  their  best  in  defense  of 
the  mill. 

Having  once  determined  upon  defying  King  Lud,  Mr. 
Mulready  went  before  the  magistrates,  and  laying  before 
them  the  threatening  letters  he  had  received,  for  the 
first  had  been  followed  by  many  others,  he  asked  them 
to  send  for  a  company  of  infantry,  as  he  was  going  to  set 
his  mill  to  work.  The  magistrates  after  some  delibera- 
tion agreed  to  do  so,  and  wrote  to  the  commanding  officer 
of  the  troops  at  Huddersfield  asking  him  to  station  a  de- 
tachment at  Marsden  for  a  time. 

The  request  was  complied  with.  A  company  of  in- 
fantry marched  in  and  were  billeted  upon  the  town.  A 
room  was  fitted  up  at  the  mill,  and  ten  of  them  were 
quartered  here,  and  upon  the  day  after  their  arrival  the 
new  machinery  started. 

Now  that  the  step  was  taken,  Mr.  Mulready's  spirits 
rose.  He  believed  that  the  presence  of  the  soldiers  was 
ample  protection  for  the  mill,  and  he  hoped  that  ere  they 
left  the  town  the  first  excitement  would  have  cooled 
down,  and  the  Luddites  have  turned  their  attention  to 
other  quarters. 

Ned  met  Bill  on  the  following  Sunday. 

"I  suppose,  Bill,'*  he  said,  "there  is  a  rare  stir  about 
Foxey  using  his  new  machinery?" 


158  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  7. 

"Ay,  that  there  be,  and  no  wonder,"  Bill  said  angrily, 
"there  be  twenty  hands  turned  adrift.  Oi  bee  one  of 
them  myself." 

"You,  Bill!  I  had  no  idea  you  had  been  discharged." 

"Ay;  oi  have  got  the  sack,  and  so  ha'  my  brother  and 
young  Jarge  Marner,  and  most  o'  t'  young  chaps  in  the 
mill.  Oi  suppose  as  how  Foxey  thinks  as  the  old  hands 
will  stick  to  t'  place,  and  is  more  afeerd  as  the  young 
uns  might  belong  to  King  Lud,  and  do  him  a  bad  turn 
with  the  machinery.  Oi  tell  ye,  Maister  Ned,,  that  the 
sooner  as  you  goes  as  an  officer  the  better,  vor  oi  caan't 
bide  here  now  and  hold  off  from  the  others.  Oi  have 
had  a  dog's  loife  for  some  time,  and  it  ull  be  worse  now. 
It  would  look  as  if  oi  hadn't  no  spirit  in  the  world,  to 
stand  being  put  upon  and  not  join  the  others.  T'  other 
chaps  scarce  speak  to  me,  and  the  gals  turn  their  backs 
as  oi  pass  them.  Oi  be  willing  vor  to  be  guided  by  you 
as  far  as  oi  can;  but  it  bain't  in  nature  to  stand  this.  Oi'd 
as  lief  go  and  hang  myself.  Oi  would  go  and  list  to- 
morrow, only  oi  don't  know  what  regiment  you  are  going 
to." 

"Well,  Bill,  it  is  hard,"  Ned  said,  "and  I  am  not  sur- 
prised that  you  feel  that  you  cannot  stand  it;  but  it 
won't  be  for  long  now.  Easter  will  be  here  in  a  fort- 
night, and  then  I  shall  see  Mr.  Simmonds  and  get  him 
to  apply  at  once.  I  met  him  in  the  street  only  last 
week,  and  he  was  talking  about  it  then.  He  thinks  that 
it  will  not  be  long  after  he  sends  in  an  application  before 
I  get  my  commission.  He  says  he  has  got  interest  in 
London  at  the  Horse  Guards,  and  will  get  the  application 
of  the  lord  lieutenant  backed  up  there;  so  I  hope  that  in 
a  couple  of  months  at  latest  it  will  all  be  settled." 

"Oi  hope  so,  oi  am  sure,  vor  oi  be  main  sick  of  this. 
However,  oi  can  hold  on  for  another  couple  of  months; 
they  know  anyhow  as  it  ain't  from  cowardice  as  I  doan't 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  F.  159 

join  them.  I  fowt  Jack  Staudfort  yesterday  and  licked 
un;  though,  as  you  see,  oi  'ave  got  a  rare  pair  of  black 
eyes  to-day.  If  oi  takes  one  every  Saturday  it's  only 
eight  more  to  lick,  and  oi  reckon  oi  can  do  that." 

"I  wish  I  could  help  you,  Bill,"  Ned  said;  "if  father 
had  been  alive  I  am  sure  he  would  have  let  you  have  a 
little  money  to  take  you  away  from  here  and  keep  you 
somewhere  until  it  is  time  for  you  to  enlist;  but  you  see 
I  can  do  nothing  now." 

"Doan't  you  go  vor  to  trouble  yourself  aboot  me, 
Maister  Ned.  Oi  shall  hold  on  roight  enow.  The 
thought  as  it  is  for  two  months  longer  will  keep  me  up. 
Oi  can  spend  moi  evenings  in  at  Luke's.  He  goes  off  to 
the  'Coo;'  but  Polly  doan't  moind  moi  sitting  there  and 
smoking  moi  pipe,  though  it  hain't  every  one  as  she 
would  let  do  that." 

Ned  laughed.  "It's  a  pity,  Bill,  you  are  not  two  or 
three  years  older,  then  perhaps  Polly  mightn't  give  you 
the  same  answer  she  gave  to  the  smith." 

"Lor'  bless  ee,"  Bill  said  seriously,  "Polly  wouldn't 
think  nowt  of  oi,  not  if  oi  was  ten  years  older.  Oi  bee 
about  the  same  age  as  she;  but  she  treats  me  as  if  I  was 
no  older  nor  her  Jarge.  No,  when  Polly  marries  it  won't 
be  in  Varley.  She  be  a  good  many  cuts  above  us,  she  be. 
Oi  looks  upon  her  jest  as  an  elder  sister,  and  oi  doan't 
inoint  how  much  she  blows  me  up — and  she  does  it  pretty 
hot  sometimes,  oi  can  tell  ee;  but  oi  should  just  loike  to 
hear  any  one  say  a  word  agin  her;  but  theere  no  one  in 
Varley  would  do  that.  Every  one  has  a  good  word  for 
Polly;  for  when  there's  sickness  in  the  house,  or  owt  be 
wrong,  Polly's  always  ready  to  help.  Oi  do  believe  that 
there  never  was  such  a  gal.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  her  oi 
would  ha'  cut  it  long  ago.  Oi  wouldn't  go  agin  what  ye 
said,  Maister  Ned;  but  oi  am  danged  it  oi  could  ha'  stood 
it  ef  it  hadn't  been  for  Polly." 


160  THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  T. 

"I  suppose,"  Ned  said,  "that  now  they  have  got  the 
soldiers  down  in  Marsden  it  will  be  all  right  about  the 
mill.'* 

"Oi  caan't  say,"  Bill  replied;  "nateral  they  doan't  say 
nowt  to  me;  but  oi  be  sure  that  some'ats  oop.  They  be 
a-drilling  every  night,  and  there  will  be  trouble  avore 
long.  Oi  doan't  believe  as  they  will  venture  to  attack 
the  mill  as  long  as  the  sojers  be  in  Marsden;  but  oi 
•wouldn't  give  the  price  of  a  pint  of  ale  for  Foxey's  loife 
ef  they  could  lay  their  hands  on  him.  He'd  best  not 
come  up  this  way  arter  dark." 

"He's  not  likely  to  do  that,"  Ned  said.  "I  am  sure 
he  is  a  coward  or  he  would  have  put  the  mill  to  work 
weeks  ago." 

Secure  in  the  protection  of  the  troops,  and  proud  of 
the  new  machinery  which  was  at  work  in  his  mill,  Mr. 
Mulready  was  now  himself  again.  His  smile  had  re- 
turned. He  carried  himself  jauntily,  and  talked  lightly 
and  contemptuously  of  the  threats  of  King  Lud.  Ned 
disliked  him  more  in  this  mood  than  in  the  state  of  de- 
pression and  irritation  which  had  preceded  it.  The  tones 
of  hatred  and  contempt  in  which  he  spoke  of  the  starving 
workmen  jarred  upon  him  greatly,  and  it  needed  all  his 
determination  and  self-command  to  keep  him  from  ex- 
pressing his  feelings.  Mr.  Mulready  was  quick  in  per- 
ceiving, from  the  expression  of  Ned's  face,  the  annoyance 
which  his  remarks  caused  him,  and  reverted  to  the  sub- 
ject all  the  more  frequently.  With  this  exception  the 
home  life  was  more  pleasant  than  it  had  been  before. 

Mr.  Mulreaay,  in  his  satisfaction  at  the  prospect  of  a 
new  prosperity,  was  far  more  tolerant  with  his  v/ife,  and 
her  spirits  naturally  rose  with  his.  She  had  fully  shared 
his  fears  as  to  the  threats  by  the  Luddites,  and  now 
agreed  cordially  with  his  diatribes  against  the  workpeople, 
adopting  all  his  opinions  as  her  own. 


THRO  UGH  TEE  FRA  T.  161 

Ned's  acquaintance  with  Bill  Swinton  had  long  been  a 
grievance  to  her,  and  her  constant  complainings  as  to 
his  love  for  low  company  had  been  one  of  the  afflictions 
to  which  Ned  had  long  been  accustomed.  Now,  having 
her  husband  by  her  side,  it  was  a  subject  to  which  she 
frequently  reverted. 

"Why  can't  you  leave  me  alone,  mother?"  Ned  burst 
out  one  day  when  Mr.  Mulready  had  left  the  room. 
"Can't  you  leave  me  in  quiet  as  to  my  friends,  when  in 
two  or  three  months  I  shall  be  going  away?  Bill  Swin- 
ton is  going  to  enlist  in  the  same  regiment  in  which  I 
am,  so  as  to  follow  me  all  over  the  world. 

"Would  any  of  the  fine  friends  you  would  like  me  to 
make  do  that?  I  like  all  the  fellows  at  school  well 
enough,  but  there  is  not  one  of  them  would  do  a  fiftieth 
part  as  much  for  me  as  Bill  would.  Even  you,  mother, 
with  all  your  prejudices,  must  allow  that  it  will  be  a  good 
thing  for  me  to  have  some  one  with  me  who  will  really 
care  for  me,  who  will  nurse  me  if  I  am  sick  or  wounded, 
who  would  lay  down  his  life  for  mine  if  necessary.  I  tell 
you  there  isn't  a  finer  fellow  than  Bill  living.  Of  course 
he's  rough,  and  he's  had  no  education,  I  know  that;  but 
it's  not  his  fault.  But  a  truer  or  warmer-hearted  fellow 
never  lived.  He  is  a  grand  fellow.  I  wish  I  was  only 
half  as  true  and  as  honest  and  manly  as  he  is.  I  am 
proud  to  have  Bill  as  a  friend.  It  won't  be  long  before 
1  have  gone,  mother.  I  have  been  fighting  hard  with 
myself  so  that  there  shall  be  peace  and  quietness  in  the 
house  for  the  little  time  I  have  got  to  be  here,  and  you 
make  it  harder  for  me.'* 

"It's  ridiculous  your  talking  so,"  Mrs.  Mulready  said 
peevishly,  "and  about  a  common  young  fellow  like  this. 
I  don't  pretend  to  understand  you,  Ned.  I  never  have 
and  never  shall  do.  But  I  am  sure  the  house  will  be 
much  more  comfortable  when  you  have  gone.  Whatever 


162  THROUGH  THE  FRAY. 

trouble  there  is  with  my  husband  is  entirely  your  mak« 
ing.  I  only  wonder  that  he  puts  up  with  your  ways  as 
he  does.  If  his  temper  was  not  as  good  as  yours  is  bad 
he  would  not  be  able  to  do  so." 

"All  right,  mother,"  Ned  said.  "He  is  an  angel,  he 
is,  we  all  know,  and  I  am  the  other  thing.  Well,  if  you 
are  contented,  that's  the  great  thing,  isn't  it?  I  only 
hope  you  will  always  be  so;  but  there,"  he  said,  calming 
himself  with  a  great  effort  as  his  father's  last  words  again 
came  into  his  mind,  "don't  let's  quarrel,  mother.  I  am 
sorry  for  what  I  have  said.  It's  quite  right  that  you 
should  stick  up  for  your  husband,  and  I  do  hope  that 
when  I  go  you  will,  as  you  say,  be  more  comfortable  and 
happy.  Perhaps  you  will.  I  am  sure  I  hope  so.  Well, 
I  know  I  am  not  nice  with  him.  I  can't  help  it.  It's 
my  beastly  temper,  I  suppose.  That's  an  old  story. 
Come,  mother,  I  have  only  a  short  time  to  be  at  home 
now.  Let  us  both  try  and  make  it  as  pleasant  as  we  can, 
so  that  when  I  am  thousands  of  miles  away,  perhaps  in 
India,  we  may  have  it  to  look  back  upon.  You  try  and 
leave  my  friends  alone  and  I  will  try  and  be  as  pleasant  as 
I  can  with  your  husband.'* 

Mrs.  Mulready  was  crying  now. 

"You  know,  Ned,  I  would  love  you  if  you  would  let 
me,  only  you  are  so  set  against  my  husband.  I  am  sure 
be  always  means  kindly.  Look  how  he  takes  to  little 
Lucy,  who  is  getting  quite  fond  of  him." 

"Yes,  I  am  very  glad  to  think  that  he  is,  mother," 
Ned  said  earnestly.  "You  see  Lucy  is  much  younger, 
and  naturally  remembers  comparatively  little  about  her 
father,  and  has  been  able  to  take  to  Mr.  Mulready  with- 
out our  prejudices.  I  am  very  glad  to  see  that  he  really 
does  like  her — in  fact  I  do  think  he  is  getting  quite  fond 
of  her.  I  shall  go  away  feeling  quite  easy  about  her.  I 
wish  I  could  say  as  much  about  Charlie.  He  is  not 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  F.  163 

strong,  like  other  boys,  and  feels  unkindness  very  sharply. 
I  can  see  him  shrink  and  shiver  when  your  hushand 
speaks  to  him,  and  am  afraid  he  will  have  a  very  bad 
time  of  it  when  I  am  gone.'* 

"I  am  sure,  Ned,  he  will  get  on  very  well,"  Mrs.  Mul- 
ready  said.  "I  have  no  doubt  that  when  he  gets  rid  of 
the  example  you  set  him — I  don't  want  to  begin  to  quar- 
rel again — but  of  the  example  you  set  him  of  dislike  and 
disrespect  to  Mr.  Mulready,  that  he  will  soon  be  quite 
different.  He  will  naturally  turn  to  me  again  instead  of 
looking  to  you  for  all  his  opinions,  and  things  will  go  on 
smoothly  and  well." 

"I  am  sure  I  hope  so,  mother.  Perhaps  I  have  done 
wrong  in  helping  to  set  Charlie  against  Mulready.  Per- 
haps when  I  have  gone,  too,  things  will  be  easier  for 
him.  If  I  could  only  think  so  I  should  go  away  with  a 
lighter  heart.  Well,  anyhow,  mother,  I  am  glad  we  have 
had  this  talk.  It  is  not  often  we  get  a  quiet  talk  together 
now." 

"I  am  sure  it  is  not  my  fault,"  Mrs.  Mulready  said  in 
a  slightly  injured  tone. 

"Perhaps  not,  mother,"  Ned  said  kindly.  "With  the 
best  intentions,  I  know  I  am  always  doing  things  wrong. 
It's  my  way,  I  suppose.  Anyhow,  mother,  I  really  have 
meant  well,  and  I  hope  you  will  think  of  me  kindly  after 
I  have  gone." 

"You  may  be  sure  I  shall  do  that,  Ned,"  his  mother 
said,  weeping  again.  "I  have  no  doubt  the  fault  has 
been  partly  mine  too,  but  you  see  women  don't  under- 
stand boys,  and  can't  make  allowances  for  them." 

And  so  Ned  kissed  his  mother  for  the  first  time  since 
the  day  when  she  had  returned  home  from  her  wedding 
tour,  and  mother  and  son  parted  on  better  terms  than 
they  had  done  for  very  many  months,  and  Ned  went 
with  a  lightened  heart  to  prepare  his  lessons  for  the  next 
day. 


164  THROUGH  THE  FHAV. 


MURDERED! 

IN  spite  of  Ned's  resolutions  that  he  would  do  nothing 
to  mar  the  tranquillity  of  the  last  few  weeks  of  his  being 
at  home,  he  had  difficulty  in  restraining  his  temper  the 
following  day  at  tea.  Never  had  he  seen  his  stepfather 
in  so  bad  a  humor.  Had  he  known  that  things  had  gone 
wrong  at  the  mill  that  day,  that  the  new  machine  had 
broken  one  of  its  working  parts  and  had  brought  every- 
thing to  a  standstill  till  it  could  be  repaired,  he  would 
have  been  able  to  make  allowances  for  Mr.  Mulready's 
ill-humor. 

Not  knowing  this  he  grew  pale  with  the  efforts  which 
he  made  to  restrain  himself  as  his  stepfather  snarled  at 
his  wife,  snapped  at  Lucy  and  Charlie,  and  grumbled 
and  growled  at  everything  throughout  the  meal.  Every- 
thing that  was  said  was  wrong,  and  at  last,  having  silenced 
his  wife  and  her  children,  the  meal  was  completed  in 
gloomy  silence.  The  two  boys  went  into  the  little  room 
off  the  hall  which  they  used  of  an  evening  to  prepare 
their  lessons  for  next  day.  Charlie,  who  came  in  last, 
did  no*-  chut  the  door  behind  him. 

"That  is  a  nice  man,  our  stepfather,"  Ned  said  in  a 
cold  fury.  "His  ways  get  more  and  more  pleasant  every 
day;  such  an  amiable,  popular  man,  so  smiling  and 
pleasant!" 

"Oh!  it's  no  use  saying  anything,"  Charlie  said  in  an 
imploring  voice,  "it  only  makes  things  worse." 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  165 

"Worse!"  Ned  exclaimed  indignantly;  "how  could 
they  be  worse?  Well  may  they  call  him  Foxey,  for  foxey 
he  is,  a  double-faced  snarling  brute." 

As  the  last  word  issued  from  Ned's  lips  he  reeled  under 
a  tremendous  box  on  the  ear  from  behind.  Mr.  Mul- 
ready  was  passing  through  the  hall — for  his  gig  was 
waiting  at  the  door  to  take  him  back  to  the  mill,  where 
some  fitters  would  be  at  work  till  late,  repairing  the 
damages  to  the  machine — when  he  had  caught  Ned's 
•words,  which  were  spoken  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 

The  smoldering  anger  of  months  burst  at  once  into  a 
flame  heightened  by  the  ill-humor  which  the  day's  events 
had  caused,  and  he  burst  into  the  room  and  almost  felled 
Ned  to  the  ground  with  his  swinging  blow.  Recovering 
himself,  Ned  flew  at  him,  but  the  boy  was  no  match  for 
the  man,  and  Mr.  Mulready's  passion  was  as  fierce  as  his 
own;  seizing  his  throat  with  his  left  hand  and  forcing 
him  back  into  a  corner  of  the  room,  his  stepfather  struck 
him  again  and  again  with  all  his  force  with  his  right. 

Charlie  had  run  at  once  from  the  room  to  fetch  his 
mother,  and  it  was  scarcely  a  minute  after  the  com- 
mencement of  the  outbreak  that  she  rushed  into  the 
room,  and  with  a  scream  threw  her  arms  round  her 
husband. 

"The  young  scoundrel!"  Mr.  Mulready  exclaimed, 
panting,  as  he  released  his  hold  of  Ned;  "he  has  been 
wanting  a  lesson  for  a  long  time,  and  I  have  given  him 
one  at  last.  He  called  me  Foxey,  the  young  villain,  and 
said  I  was  a  double-faced  snarling  brute;  let  him  say  so 
again  and  I  will  knock  his  head  off." 

But  Ned  just  at  present  was  not  in  a  condition  to  repeat 
his  words;  breathless  and  half-stunned  he  leaned  in  the 
corner,  his  breath  came  in  gasps,  his  face  was  as  pale  as 
death,  his  cheek  was  cut,  there  were  red  marks  on  the 
forehead  which  would  speedily  become  black,  and  the 


166  THRO  UGH  TSE  FRA  T. 

blood  was  flowing  from  a  cut  on  his  lip,  his  eyes  had  a 
dazed  and  half-stupid  look. 

"Oh!  William!"  Mrs.  Mulready  said  as  she  looked  at 
her  son,  "how  could  you  hurt  him  so!" 

"Hurt  him,  the  young  reptile!"  Mr.  Mulready  said 
savagely.  "I  meant  to  hurt  him.  I  will  hurt  him  more 
next  time." 

Mrs.  Mulready  paid  no  attention  to  his  words,  but 
went  tip  to  Ned. 

"Ned,  my  boy,"  she  said  tenderly,  "what  is  it?  Don't 
look  like  that,  Ned;  speak  to  me." 

His  mother's  voice  seemed  to  rouse  Ned  into  conscious- 
ness. He  drew  a  long  breath,  then  slowly  passed  his 
hand  across  his  eyes,  and  lips,  and  mouth.  He  looked  at 
his  mother  and  seemed  about  to  speak,  but  no  sound 
came  from  his  lips.  Then  his  eye  fell  on  his  stepfather, 
who,  rather  alarmed  at  the  boy's  appearance,  was  stand- 
ing near  the  door.  The  expression  of  Ned's  face 
changed,  his  mouth  became  set  and  rigid,  his  eyes  di- 
lated, and  Mr.  Mulready,  believing  that  he  was  about  to 
spring  upon  him,  drew  back  hastily  half  a  step  and  threw 
up  his  hands  to  defend  himself.  Mrs.  Mulready  threw 
herself  in  Ned's  way;  the  boy  made  no  effort  to  put  her 
aside,  but  kept  his  eyes  fixed  over  her  shoulder  at  his 
stepfather. 

"Take  care!"  he  said  hoarsely,  "it  will  be  my  turn 
next  time,  and  when  it  comes  I  will  kill  you,  you  brute." 

"Oh,  go  away,  William!"  Mrs.  Mulready  cried;  "oh! 
do  go  away,  or  there  will  be  more  mischief.  Oh!  Ned, 
do  sit  down,  and  don't  look  so  dreadful;  he  is  going 
now." 

Mr.  Mulready  turned  and  went  with  a  laugh  which  he 
intended  to  be  scornful,  but  in  which  there  was  a  strong 
tinge  of  uneasiness.  He  had  always  in  his  heart  been 
Afraid  of  this  boy  with  his  wild  and  reckless  temper,  and 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  Y.  16? 

felt  that  in  his  present  mood  Ned  was  capable  of  any- 
thing. Still  as  Mr.  Mulready  took  his  seat  in  his  gig  hia 
predominant  feeling  was  satisfaction. 

"I  am  glad  I  have  given  him  a  lesson,"  he  muttered 
to  himself,  "and  have  paid  him  off  for  months  of  inso- 
lence. He  won't  try  it  on  again,  and  as  for  his  threats, 
pooh !  he'll  be  gone  in  a  few  weeks,  and  there  will  be  an 
end  of  it." 

After  he  had  gone  Mrs.  Mulready  tried  to  sooth  Ned, 
but  the  boy  would  not  .listen  to  her,  and  in  fact  did  not 
seem  to  hear  her. 

"Don't  you  mind,  mother,"  he  said  in  a  strange,  quiet 
voice,  "I  will  pay  him  off;"  and  muttering  these  words 
over  and  over  again  he  went  out  into  the  hall,  took  down 
his  cap  in  a  quiet,  mechanical  sort  of  way,  put  it  on, 
opened  the  door,  and  went  out. 

"Oh!  Charlie,"  Mrs.  Mulready  said  to  her  second  son, 
who,  sobbing  bitterly,  had  thrown  himself  down  in  a 
chair  by  the  table,  and  was  sitting  with  his  head  on  his 
hands,  "there  will  be  something  terrible  come  of  thisl 
Ned's  temper  is  so  dreadful,  and  my  husband  was  wrong, 
too.  He  should  never  have  beaten  him  so,  though  Ned 
did  say  such  things  to  him.  What  shall  I  do?  these 
quarrels  will  be  the  death  of  me.  I  suppose  Ned  will  be 
wandering  about  all  night  again.  Do  put  on  your  cap^ 
Charlie,  and  go  out  and  see  if  you  can  find  him,  and  per- 
suade him  to  come  home  and  go  to  bed;  perhaps  he  will 
listen  to  you." 

Charlie  was  absent  an  hour,  and  returned  saying  that 
he  could  not  find  his  brother. 

"Perhaps  he's  gone  up  to  Varley  as  he  did  last  time," 
Mrs.  Mulready  said.  "I  am  sure  I  hope  he  has,  else  he 
will  be  wandering  about  all  night,  and  he  had  such  a 
strange  look  in  his  face  that  there's  no  saying  where  he 
might  go  to,  or  what  he  might  do." 


168  TBRO  VGB  THE  FRA  T. 

Charlie  was  almost  heart-broken,  and  sat  up  till  long 
past  his  usual  time,  waiting  for  his  brother's  return.  At 
last  his  eyes  would  no  longer  keep  open,  and  he  stumbled 
upstairs  to  bed,  where  he  fell  asleep  almost  as  his  head 
touched  the  pillow,  in  spite  of  his  resolution  to  be  awake 
until  Ned  returned. 

Downstairs  Mrs.  Mulready  kept  watch.  She  did  not 
expect  Ned  to  return,  but  she  was  listening  for  the 
wheels  of  her  husband's  gig.  It  was  uncertain  at  what 
time  he  would  return;  for  when  he  rose  from  the  tea- 
table  she  had  asked  him  what  time  he  expected  to  be 
back,  and  he  had  replied  that  he  could  not  say;  he  should 
stop  until  the  repairs  were  finished,  and  she  was  to  go  to 
bed  and  not  bother. 

So  at  eleven  o'clock  she  went  upstairs,  for  once  before 
when  he  had  been  out  late  and  she  had  sat  up  he  had 
been  much  annoyed;  but  after  she  got  in  bed  she  lay  for 
hours  listening  for  the  sound  of  the  wheels.  At  last  she 
fell  asleep  and  dreamed  that  Ned  and  her  husband  were 
standing  at  the  end  of  a  precipice  grappling  fiercely 
together  in  a  life-and-death  struggle.  She  was  awaked 
at  last  by  a  knocking  at  the  door;  she  glanced  at  her 
watch,  which  hung  above  her  head;  it  was  but  half -past 
six. 

"What  is  it,  Mary?" 

"Please,  mum,  there's  a  constable  below,  and  he  wants 
to  speak  to  you  immediate." 

Mrs.  Mulready  sprang  from  the  bed  and  began  to  dress 
herself  hurriedly.  All  sorts  of  mischief  that  might  have 
come  to  Ned  passed  rapidly  through  her  mind;  her  hus- 
band had  not  returned,  but  no  doubt  he  had  stopped  at 
the  mill  all  night  watching  the  men  at  work.  His  ab- 
sence scarcely  occasioned  her  a  moment's  thought.  In  a 
very  few  minutes  she  was  downstairs  in  the  kitchen, 
where  the  constable  was  standing  waiting  for  her.  She 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  169 

knew  him  by  sight,  for  Marsden  possessed  but  four  con- 
stables, and  they  were  all  well-known  characters. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked;  "has  anything  happened  to 
my  son?" 

"No,  mum,"  the  constable  said  in  a  tone  of  surprise, 
*'I  didn't  know  as  he  wasn't  in  bed  and  asleep,  but  I  have 
some  bad  news  for  you,  mum;  it's  a  bad  job  altogether." 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked  again;  "is  it  my  husband?" 

"Well,  mum,  I  am  sorry  to  say  as  it  be.  A  chap  came 
in  early  this  morning  and  told  me  as  summat  had  hap- 
pened, so  I  goes  out,  and  half  a  mile  from  the  town  I 
finds  it  just  as  he  says." 

"But  what  is  it?"  Mrs.  Mulready  gasped. 

"Well,  mum,  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  tell  you,  but  there 
was  the  gig  all  smashed  to  atoms,  and  there  was  the 
little  black  mare  lying  all  in  a  heap  with  her  neck  broke, 
and  there  was — "  and  he  stopped. 

"My  husband!"  Mrs.  Mulready  gasped. 

"Yes,  marm,  I  be  main  sorry  to  say  it  were.  There, 
yards  in  front  of  them,  were  Mr.  Mulready  just  stiff  and 
cold.  He'd  been  flung  right  out  over  the  hoss'  head. 
I  expect  he  had  fallen  on  his  head  and  must  have  been 
killed  roight  out;  and  the  worst  of  it  be,  marm,  as  it 
warn't  an  accident,  for  there,  tight  across  the  road,  about 
eighteen  inches  above  the  ground,  was  a  rope  stretched 
tight  atween  a  gate  on  either  side.  It  was  plain  enough 
to  see  what  had  happened.  The  mare  had  come  tearing 
along  as  usual  at  twelve  mile  an  hour  in  the  dark,  and 
she  had  caught  the  rope,  and  in  course  there  had  been  a 
regular  smash." 

The  pretty  color  had  all  gone  from  Mrs.  Mulready's 
face  as  he  began  his  story,  but  a  ghastly  pallor  spread 
over  her  face,  and  a  look  of  deadly  horror  came  into  lies 
eyes  as  he  continued. 

"Oh,  Ned,  Ned,"  she  wailed,  "how  could  you!"  and 
then  she  fell  senseless  to  the  ground. 


170  THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  F. 

The  constable  raised  her  and  placed  her  in  a  chair. 

"Are  you  sure  the  master's  dead?"  the  servant  asked, 
Wiping  her  eyes. 

"Sure  enough,"  the  constable  said.  "I  have  sent  the 
doctor  off  already,  but  it's  no  good,  he's  been  dead  hours 
and  hours.  But,"  he  continued,  his  professional  in- 
stincts coming  to  the  surface,  "what  did  she  mean  by 
saying,  'Oh,  ^ed,  how  could  you!'  She  asked  me,  too 
first  about  him;  ain't  he  at  home?" 

"No,  he  ain't,"  the  servant  said,  "and  ain't  been  at 
home  all  night;  there  were  a  row  between  him  and  mais- 
ter  last  even;  they  had  a  fight.  Maister  Charlie  he  ran 
into  the  parlor  as  I  was  a  clearing  away  the  tea-things, 
hallowing  out  as  maister  was  a-killing  Ned.  Missis  she 
ran  in  and  I  heard  a  scream,  then  maister  he  drove  off, 
and  a  minute  or  two  later  Maister  Ned  he  went  out,  and 
he  ain't  come  back  again.  When  I  went  in  with  the 
candles  I  could  see  missis  had  been  a  crying.  That's  all 
I  know  about  it." 

"And  enough  too,"  the  constable  said  grimly.  "This 
here  be  a  pretty  business.  Well,  you  had  best  get  your 
missis  round  and  see  about  getting  the  place  ready  for 
the  corpse.  They  have  gone  up  with  a  stretcher  to 
bring  him  back.  They  will  be  here  afore  long.  I  must 
go  to  Justice  Thompson's  and  tell  him  all  about  it.  This 
be  a  pretty  kittle  of  fish,  surely.  I  be  main  sorry,  but  I 
have  got  my  duty  to  do." 

An  hour  later  Williams  the  constable  with  a  companion 
started  out  in  search  of  Ned  Sankey,  having  a  warrant 
in  his  pocket  for  his  arrest  on  the  charge  of  willful 
murder. 

The  excitement  in  Marsden  when  it  became  known 
that  Mr.  Mulready  had  been  killed  was  intense,  and  it 
was  immensely  heightened  when  it  was  rumored  that  a 
Warrant  had  been  issued  for  the  arrest  of  his  stepson  on, 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  171 

the  charge  of  murder.  Quite  a  little  crowd  hung  all  day 
round  the  house  with  closed  blinds,  within  which  their 
so  lately  active  and  bustling  townsman  was  lying. 

All  sorts  of  conjectures  were  rife,  and  there  were  many 
who  said  that  they  had  all  along  expected  harm  would 
come  of  the  marriage  which  had  followed  so  soon  after 
the  death  of  Captain  Sankey.  The  majority  were  loud 
in  expression  of  their  sympathy  with  the  dead  mill- 
owner,  recalling  his  cheery  talk  and  general  good  temper. 
Others  were  disposed  to  think  that  Ned  had  been  driven 
to  the  act;  but  among  very  few  was  there  any  doubt  as 
to  his  guilt.  It  was  recalled  against  him  that  he  had 
before  been  in  the  dock  for  his  assault  upon  Mr.  Hathorn, 
and  that  it  had  been  proved  that  he  had,  threatened  to 
kill  his  master.  His  sullen  and  moody  demeanor  at  the 
marriage  of  his  mother  told  terribly  against  him,  and  the 
rumors  of  the  previous  quarrel  when  Ned  had  assaulted 
his  stepfather,  and  which,  related  with  many  exaggera- 
tions, had  at  the  time  furnished  a  subject  of  gossip  in 
the  town,  also  told  heavily  to  his  disadvantage. 

Williams  having  learned  from  the  servant  that  Ned 
was  in  the  habit  of  going  up  to  Varley  had  first  made  his 
inquiries  there;  but  neither  Bill  nor  Luke  Marner,  who 
were,  the  constable  speedily  learned,  his  principal  friends 
there,  had  seen  him.  Varley  was  greatly  excited  over 
the  news  of  the  murder.  Many  of  the  men  worked  at 
Mulready's  mill,  and  had  brought  back  the  news  at  an 
early  hour,  as  all  work  was  of  course  suspended. 

There  was  no  grief  expressed  in  Varley  at  Mr.  Mul- 
ready's death,  indeed  the  news  was  received  with  jubi- 
lant exultation.  "A  good  job  too,"  was  the  general 
verdict;  and  the  constable  felt  that  were  Ned  in  the  vil- 
lage he  would  be  screened  by  the  whole  population.  He 
was  convinced,  however,  that  both  Bill  Swinton  and 
Luke  Marner  were  ignorant  of  his  whereabouts,  so  gen- 


172  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  Y. 

nine  had  been  their  astonishment  at  his  questions,  and 
BO  deep  their  indignation  when  they  learned  his  errand. 

"Thou  dussVt  believe  it,  Luke?"  Bill  Swinton  said 
as  he  entered  the  latter's  cottage. 

"No,  lad,  oi  duss'n't,"  Luke  said;  "no  more  does 
Polly  here,  but  it  looks  main  awkward,"  he  said  slowly 
stroking  his  chin,  "if  as  how  what  the  constable  said  is 
right,  and  there  was  a  tight  atween  them  that  evening." 

"Maister  Ned  were  a  hot  'un,"  Bill  said;  "he  allus 
«aid  as  how  he  had  a  dreadful  temper,  though  oi  never 
seed  nowt  of  it  in  him,  and  he  hated  Foxey  like  poison; 
that  oi  allows;  but  unless  he  tells  me  hisself  as  he  killed 
him  nowt  will  make  me  believe  it.  He  might  ha'  picked 
up  summat  handy  when  Foxey  hit  him  and  smashed  him, 
but  oi  don't  believe  it  of  Maister  Ned  as  he  would  ha 
done  it  arterward." 

"He  war  a  downright  bad  'un  war  Foxey,"  Luke  said, 
"vor  sure.  No  worse  in  the  district,  and  there's  many  a 
one  as  would  rejoice  as  he's  gone  to  his  account,  and  oi 
believe  as  whoever's  done  it  has  saved  Captain  Lud  from 
a  job;  but  there,  it's  no  use  a  talking  of  that  now.  Now, 
look  here,  Bill,  what  thou  hast  got  to  do  be  this.  Thou 
hast  got  to  find  the  boy;  oi  expect  he  be  hiding  some- 
wheres  up  on  t'  moors.  Thou  knowst  better  nor  oi  wheere 
he  be  likely  vor  to  be.  Voind  him  out,  lad,  and  tell  him 
as  they  be  arter  him.  Here  be  ten  punds  as  oi  ha  had 
laying  by  me  for  years  ready  in  case  of  illness;  do  thou 
give  it  to  him  and  tell  him  he  be  heartily  welcome  to  it, 
and  can  pay  me  back  agin  when  it  suits  him.  Tell  him 
as  he'd  best  make  straight  for  Liverpool  and  git  aboard 
a  ship  there  for  'Merikee — never  moind  whether  he  did 
the  job  or  whether  he  didn't.  Things  looks  agin  him 
now,  and  he  best  be  on  his  way." 

"Oi'll  do't,"  Bill  said,  "and  oi'll  bid  thee  good-by, 
Luke,  and  thee  too,  Polly,  for  ye  won't  see  me  back 


THRO  VGfH  TEE  PR  A  Y.  173 

agin.  Of  course  I  shall  go  wi'  him.  He  haven't  got 
man's  strength  yet,  and  oi  can  work  for  us  both.  I  bain'f 
a-going  to  let  him  go  by  hisself,  not  loikely." 

"Thou  art  roight,  lad,"  Luke  said  heartily.  "Dang  it 
all,  lad,  thou  speak'st  loike  a  man.  Oi  be  sorry  thou  art 
going,  Bill,  for  oi  loike  thee;  but  thou  be  right  to  go  wi' 
this  poor  lad.  Good-by,  lad,  and  luck  be  wi'  ye;"  and 
Luke  wrung  Bill's  hand  heartily. 

"I  shan't  say  good-by,  Bill,"  Mary  Powlett  said  qui- 
etly. "I  don't  think  Ned  Sankey  can  have  done  this 
thing,  and  if  he  hasn't  you  will  find  that  he  will  not  run 
away,  but  will  stay  here  and  face  it  out." 

"Then  he  will  be  a  fool,"  Luke  Marner  said.  "I  tell 
ee  the  evidence  be  main  strong  agin  him,  and  whether 
he  be  innocent  or  not  he  will  find  it  hard  to  clear  hisself. 
Oi  don't  think  much  the  worst  of  him  myself  if  he  done 
it,  and  most  in  Varley  will  be  o'  my  way  o'  thinking. 
Foxey  war  a  tyrant  if  ever  there  war  one,  and  the  man 
what  was  so  hard  a  maister  to  his  hands  would  be  loike 
to  be  hard  to  his  wife's  children." 

"Don't  speak  like  that,  feyther,"  Polly  said;  "murder 
is  murder,  you  know." 

"Ay,  lass,  and  human  natur  be  human  natur,  and  it 
be  no  use  your  going  agin.  it.  If  he  ha  been  and  ill- 
treated  the  boy,  and  I  don't  doubt  as  he  has,  thou  may'st 
argue  all  noight,  but  thou  won't  get  me  to  say  as  'oi 
blames  him  much  if  he  has  done  it.  Oi  don't  suppose  as 
he  meant  to  kill  him — not  vor  a  moment.  I  should 
think  hard  of  him  if  oi  thowt  as  how  he  did.  He  meant, 
oi  reckon,  vor  to  throw  his  horse  down  and  cut  his  knees, 
knowing,  as  every  one  did,  as  Malready  were  moighty 
proud  of  his  horse,  and  he  may  have  reckoned  as  Foxey 
would  git  a  good  shake,  and  some  bruises  as  well,  as  a 
scare,  but  oi  doan't  believe,  not  vor  a  moment,  as  he 
meant  vor  to  kill  him.  That's  how  oi  reads  it,  lass.," 


174  THRO  JIOH  THE  FRA  7. 

"Well,  it  may  be  so,"  Mary  assented.  "It  is  possible 
he  may  have  done  it,  meaning  really  only  to  give  him  a 
fright  and  a  shake;  but  I  hope  he  didn't.  Still  if  that 
was  how  it  happened  I  will  shake  hands,  Bill,  and  wish 
you  good-by  and  good  luck,  for  it  would  be  best  for  him 
to  get  away,  for  I  am  afraid  that  the  excuse  that  he  only 
meant  to  frighten  and  not  to  kill  him  will  not  save  him. 
I  am  sorry  you  are  going,  Bill,  very  sorry;  but  if  you 
were  my  own  brother  I  would  not  say  a  word  to  stop 
you.  Didn't  his  feyther  give  up  his  life  to  save  little 
Janey?  and  I  would  give  mine  to  save  his.  But  I  do 
think  it  will  be  good  for  you,  Bill;  times  are  bad,  and  it 
has  been  very  hard  for  you  lately  in  Varley.  I  know  all 
about  it,  and  you  will  do  better  across  the  seas.  You 
will  write,  won't  you,  sometimes?" 

"Never  fear,"  Bill  said  huskily,  "oi  will  wroite,  Pollys 
good-by,  and  God  bless  you  all;  but  it  mayn't  be  good-by, 
for  oi  mayn't  foind  him ;"  and,  wringing  the  hands  of 
Luke  and  Polly,  Bill  returned  to  his  cottage,  hastily 
packed  up  a  few  things  in  a  kit,  slung  it  over  his  shoul- 
der on  a  stick,  and  started  out  in  search  of  Ned. 

Late  that  evening  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door  of 
Luke's  cottage.  On  opening  it  he  found  Bill  standing 
there. 

"Back  again,  Bill!— then  thou  hasn't  found  him?" 

"No,"  Bill  replied  in  a  dejected  voice.  "Oi  ha* 
hoonted  high  and  low  vor  him;  oi  ha'  been  to  every 
place  on  the  moor  wheer  we  ha'  been  together,  and  wheer 
oi  thowt  as  he  might  be  a-waiting  knowing  as  oi  should  set 
out  to  look  for  him  as  soon  as  oi  heard  the  news.  Oi  doin't 
think  he  be  nowhere  on  the  moor.  Oi  have  been 
a-tramping  ever  sin'  oi  started  this  mourning.  Twice  oi 
ha'  been  down  Maarsten  to  see  if  so  be  as  they've  took 
him,  but  nowt  ain't  been  seen  of  him.  Oi  had  just  coom 
from  there  now.  Thou'st  Leerd,  oi  suppose,  as  the 


THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  T.  175 

& 

crowner's  jury  ha  found  as  Foxey  wer  murdered  by  him; 
but  it  hain't  true,  you  know,  Luke — be  it?'* 

Bill  made  the  assertions  stoutly,  but  there  was  a  trem- 
ulous eagerness  in  the  question  which  followed  it.  He 
was  fagged  and  exhausted.  His  faith  in  Ned  was  strong, 
but  he  had  found  the  opinion  in  the  town  so  unanimous 
against  him  that  he  longed  for  an  assurance  that  some 
one  beside  himself  believed  in  Ned's  innocence. 

"Oi  doan't  know,  Bill,"  Luke  Marner  said,  stroking 
his  chin  as  he  always  did  when  he  was  thinking;  oi 
doan't  know,  Bill — oi  hoape  he  didn't  do  it,  wi'  all  my 
heart.  But  oi  doan't  knaw  aboot  it.  He  war  sorely 
tried — that  be  sartain.  But  if  he  did  it,  he  did  it;  it 
makes  no  difference  to  me.  It  doan't  matter  to  me  one 
snap  ov  the  finger  whether  the  lad  killed  Foxey  or 
whether  he  didn't — that  hain't  my  business  or  yours. 
What  consarns  me  is,  as  the  son  of  the  man  as  saved  my 
child's  loife  at  t'  cost  of  his  own  be  hunted  by  the  con- 
stables and  be  in  risk  of  his  loife.  That's  t'  question  as 
comes  home  to  me — oi've  had  nowt  else  ringing  in  my 
ears  all  day.  Oi  ha' been  oot  to  a  searching  high  and 
low.  Oi  ain't  a  found  him,  but  oi  ha  made  oop  moi 
moind  whaat  I  be  agoing  to  do." 

They  had  moved  a  little  away  from  the  cottage  now, 
but  Luke  lowered  his  voice: 

'Oi  be  a-going  down  to  t'  town  in  the  morning  to  give 
moiself  oop  vor  the  murder  of  Foxey." 

Bill  gave  an  exclamation  of  astonishment: 

"But  thou  didn'st  do  it,  Luke?" 

"I  moight  ha'  done  it  for  owt  thou  kuaw'st,  Bill.  He 
wer  the  worst  of  maisters,  and,  as  thou  knaw'st,  Bill,  oi 
t  hated  him  joost  as  all  the  country-side  did.  He's  been 
warned  by  King  Lud  and  ha'  been  obliged  to  get  the 
sojers  at  his  factory.  Well,  thou  knowest  it  was  nateral 
as  h«  would  drive  down  last  noight  to  see  how  t'  chaps 


176  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

at  t*  engine  was  a-getting  on,  and  ib  coomed  across  my 
moind  as  it  wer  a  good  opportunity  vor  to  finish  un;  so 
ther  thou  hast  it." 

Bill  gazed  in  astonishment  through  the  darkness  at  his 
companion. 

"But  it  bain't  true,  Luke?  Thou  wast  talking  to  me 
arter  thou  coom'd  out  of  the  Coo  at  noine  o'clock,  an 
thou  saidst  as  thou  was  off  to  bed." 

"Nowt  of  the  koind,"  Luke  replied.  "Oi  told  ye, 
thou  knaw'st,  as  I  wer  a-going  down  to  t'  toon  and  oi 
had  got  a  job  in  hand.  Oi  spoke  mysterous  loike,  and 
you  noticed  as  how  oi  had  got  a  long  rope  coiled  up  in 
moi  hand." 

Bill  gave  a  gasp  of  astonishment. 

"That's  what  thou  hast  got  to  say,"  Luke  said  dog- 
gedly; "only  astead  o*  its  being  at  noine  o'clock  it  war 
at  ten.  Oi  were  just  a-slipping  owt  of  the  cottage,  t* 
others  were  all  asleep  and  knew  nowt  aboot  moi  having 
goone  out." 

Bill  was  silent  now. 

"Oi  wish  oi  had  a-thowt  of  it,"  he  said  at  last;  "oi 
would  ha'  doon  it  moiself." 

"Oi  wouldn't  ha*  let  thee,  Bill,"  Luke  said  quietly. 
"He  be  a  friend  of  thine,  and  oi  knaw  thou  lovest  him 
loike  a  brother,  and  a  soight  mor'n  most  brothers;  but  it 
be  moi  roight.  Tss  captain  gave  his  loife  vor  moi  child's, 
and  oi  bee  a  going  vor  to  give  mine  for  his.  That  will 
make  us  quits.  Besides,  thou  art  young;  oi  be  a-getting 
on.  Jarge,  he  will  be  a-arning  money  soon;  and  Polly, 
she  can  get  a  place  in  sarvice,  and  'nl  help  t'  young  uns. 
They  will  manage.  Oi  ha'  been  thinking  it  over  in  al] 
loites,  and  ha'  settled  it  all  in  moi  moind." 

Bill  was  silent  for  a  time  and  then  said: 

"Ther  be  one  thing  agin'  it,  Luke,  and  it  be  this:  As 
We  can't  hear  nowt  of  Maister  Ned,  oi  be  a  thinking  as 


THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  T  177 

he  ha*  made  straight  vor  Liverpool  or  Bristol  or  London, 
wi'  a  view  to  going  straight  across  the  seas  or  of  'listing, 
or  doing  somewhat  to  keep  out  of  t'  way.  He  be  sure  to 
look  in  t'  papers,  to  see  how  things  be  a-going  on  here; 
and  as  sure  as  he  sees  as  how  you've  gived  yourself  up  and 
owed  up  as  you  ha'  done  it,  he  will  coom  straight  back 
again  and  say  as  how  it  were  him. 

"Maister  Ned  might  ha'  killed  Foxey  in  a  passion,  but 
not  loike  this.  He  didn't  mean  to  kill  him,  but  only 
vor  to  give  him  a  shaake  and  frighten  him.  But  oi  be 
sartin  sure  as  he  wouldn't  let  another  be  hoonged  in  his 
place.  So  ye  see  thou'd  do  more  harm  nor  good." 

"Oi  didn't  think  of  that,"  Luke  said,  rubbing  his  chin. 
"That  be  so,  sure-ly.  He'd  be  bound  to  coom  back  agin. 
Well,  lad,  oi  will  think  it  over  agin  avore  moorning,  and 
do  thou  do  t'  same.  Thou  knaw'st  moi  wishes  now.  We 
ha'  got  atween  us  to  get  Maister  Ned  off — that  be  the 
thing  as  be  settled.  It  doan't  matter  how  it's  done,  but 
it's  got  to  be  done  soomhow;  and  oi  rely  on  thee  to 
maake  moi  story  good,  whatever  it  be. 

"There  can't  be  nowt  wrong  about  it — a  loife  vor  a 
loife  be  fair,  any  way.  There  be  more  nor  eno'  in  York- 
shire in  these  toimes,  and  one  more  or  less  be  of  no 
account  to  any  one."  » 

"Oi  be  thy  man,  Luke,"  Bill  said  earnestly.  "What- 
ever as  thou  sayest  oi  will  sweer  to;  but  I  would  reyther 
change  places." 

"That  caan't  be,  Bill,  so  it  bain't  no  use  thinking 
aboot  it.  Oi  knaw  thou  wilt  do  thy  best  vor  Polly  and  t' 
young  uns.  It  'ull  be  rough  on  her,  but  it  hain't  to  be 
helped;  and  as  she  will  be  going  away  from  Varley  and 
settling  elsewhere,  it  wouldn't  be  brought  up  again  her 
as  she  had  an  uncle  as  were  a  Luddite  and  got  hoong  for 
killing  a  bad  maister.  Good-noight,  lad  I  oi  will  see  thee 
i'  t'  morning." 


1-Jfi  THROUGH  THE 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

COMMITTED  FOB  TRIAL. 

AFTER  a  talk  with  Luke  Marner  early  in  the  morning 
Bill  Swinton  went  down  into  Marsden  to  hear  if  there 
was  any  news  of  Ned.  He  was  soon  back  again.  "Mais- 
ter  Ned's  took,"  he  said  as  he  met  Luke,  who  was  stand- 
ing in  front  of  his  cottage  awaiting  his  return  hefore 
starting  out  to  renew  his  search  for  Ned.  "Oi  hear,  at 
noine  o'clock  last  noight  he  walked  in  to  Justice  Thomp- 
son's and  said  as  he  had  coom  to  give  hisself  up.  He 
said  as  how  he  had  been  over  at  Painton,  where  the  old 
woman  as  was  his  nurse  lives;  and  directly  as  the  news 
coom  in  t'  arternoon  as  Foxey  had  been  killed  and  he 
was  wanted  for  the  murder,  he  coom  straight  over." 

"That's  roight,"  Luke  said  heartily;  "that  settles  it. 
He  must  ha'  been  innocent  or  he  would  ha*  bolted  straight 
away,  and  not  coom  back  and  gi'd  hisself  oop  to  justice. 
It  were  only  his  hiding  away  as  maade  oi  think  as  he 
moight  ha'  done  it.  Noo  in  course  he  will  be  able  to 
clear  hisself;  for  if  he  was  over  at  Painton,  why,  he 
couldn't  be  here — that  be  plain  to  any  one." 

"Oi  be  aveared,  by  what  t'  constable  told  me,  as  he 
won't  be  able  vor  to  prove  it.  It  seems  as  how  he  didn't 
get  to  Painton  till  t'  morning.  He  says  as  how  he  were 
awalking  aboot  on  t'  moor  all  night.  So  you  see  he  will 
have  hard  work  vor  to  clear  hisself." 

"Then  I  shall  ha'  to  give  meself  up,"  Luke  said  qui- 
etly. "Ye  see  as  it  can't  do  him  harm  now,  'cause  hs 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  179 

ha'  coom  back;  and  ef  oi  says  as  I  killed  *!ic  man  they 
will  open  the  doors,  and  he  will  only  have  tc  walk  out." 

"Oi  ha'  been  a-thinking  of  that  as  I  coom  back,"  Bill 
said,  "and  oi  doan't  think  as  oi  see  my  way  clear  through 
it  now.  Firstly,  if  Maister  Ned  did  it,  of  course  he  wil) 
hold  his  tongue  and  leave  'em  to  prove  it,  which  maybe 
they  can't  do;  so  he  has  a  chance  of  getting  off.  But  ii 
you  cooms  forward  and  owns  up,  he  will  be  saaf,  if  h« 
did  it,  to  say  so  at  once;  and  so  you  will  have  done  him 
harm  rather  nor  good.  Vor  of  course  he  will  be  able  to 
prove  his  story  better  nor  you  will  yourn,  and  you  will 
have  put  the  noose  round  his  neck  instead  of  getting  it 
put  round  yourn.  In  the  second  place,  it  be  loike  enough 
as  they  lawyer  chaps  moight  find  out  as  your  story  weren't 
true  when  they  coom  to  twisting  me  inside  owt  in  the 
box.  They  might  foind  as  oi  war  a-swearing  false. 
There  be  never  no  saying.  They  moight  prove  as  that 
bit  of  rope  warn't  yourn.  Polly  moight  swear  as  she 
hadn't  been  asleep  till  arter  the  time  you  said  you  went 
out,  and  that  you  never  moved  as  long  as  she  war  awake. 
Lots  of  unexpected  things  moight  turn  up  to  show  it 
war  a  lie  and  then  you  know  they'd  drop  onto  Maister 
Ned  wourse  nor  ever." 

"I  doan't  believe  they  would  ask  you  any  questions, 
Bill.  When  a  man  cooms  and  says,  'Oi  did  a  murder,' 
they  doan't  want  to  ask  many  questions  aboot  it.  They 
takes  it  vor  granted  as  he  wouldn't  be  such  a  fool  as  vor 
to  say  he  did  it  when  he  didn't.  But  th'  other  point  be 
more  sarous.  It  be  loike  enough  as  t'  lad  did  it,  and  if 
he  did  he  will  out  wi'  it  when  oi  cooms  forward.  If  oi 
could  get  to  see  him  first  oi  moight  argue  him  into  hold- 
ing his  tongue  by  pointing  owt  that  moi  loife  bain't  of  so 
much  valley  as  hissen,  also  that  I  owe  a  debt  to  hii 
feyther." 

"Well,  oi  ha*  been  thinking  it  over,"  Bill  said,  "aad 


180  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

moi  opinion  is  thou  had  best  hold  thy  tongue  till  the 
trial.  Thou  can'st  be  in  the  court.  Ef  the  jury  foind 
him  innocent,  of  course  thou  will't  hold  thy  tongue;  ef 
they  foind  him  guilty,  then  thou'lt  get  up  in  the  court, 
and  thou'lt  say  to  the  joodge,  civil  loike: 

"Moi  lord,  the  gentlemen  of  the  jury  have  made  a 
mistake;  oi  am  the  chap  as  killed  Foxey  and  oi  ha'  got  a 
young  man  here  as  a  witness  as  moi  words  is  true." 

"Perhaps  that  will  be  the  best  way,  Bill,"  Luke  said 
thoughtfully.  "Oi  ha'  bin  thinking  how  we  moight  get 
over  Polly's  evidence  agin  me;  every  noight  oi  will  get 
up  regular  and  coom  and  ha'  a  talk  wi'  you;  oi  will  coom 
out  wi'out  my  shoes  as  quiet  as  a  cat,  and  then  if  Polly 
sweers  as  oi  didn't  leave  t'  house  that  noight  thou  can'st 
sweer  as  she  knaws  nothing  at  all  aboot  it,  as  oi  ha'  been 
out  every  noight  to  see  thee." 

So  the  matter  was  allowed  to  stand  for  the  time;  and 
Bill  and  Luke,  when  they  had  had  their  breakfast,  went 
down  again  to  Marsden  to  hear  what  was  going  on. 
Marsden  was  greatly  excited.  The  sensation  caused  by 
the  news  of  the  murder  scarcely  exceeded  that  which  was 
aroused  when  it  was  heard  that  Ned  Sankey  had  come  in 
and  given  himself  up.  Some  thought  that  at  the  exami- 
nation which  was  to  take  place  at  noon  he  would  at  once 
confess  his  guilt,  while  others  believed  that  he  would 
plead  not  guilty,  and  would  throw  the  burden  of  proving 
that  he  killed  his  stepfather  upon  the  prosecution. 

All  through  the  previous  day  Mrs.  Mulready  had  been 
the  central  object  of  interest  to  the  town  gossips  pending 
the  capture  of  her  son.  Dr.  Green  had  been  in  and  out 
of  the  house  all  day.  It  was  known  that  she  had  passed 
from  one  fit  of  hysterics  into  another,  and  that  the  doctor 
was  seriously  alarmed  about  ber  state.  Rumors  were 
about  that  the  servants,  having  been  interviewed  at  the 
back  gate,  said,  that  in  Jis  intervals  of  her  screaming 


THROUGH  THE  FRAY  181 

and  wild  laughter  she  over  and  over  again  accused  Ned 
as  the  murderer  of  Her  husband.  Dr.  Green,  when  ques- 
tioned, peremptorily  refused  to  give  any  information 
whatever  as  to  his  patient's  opinions  or  words. 

"The  woman  is  well-nigh  a  fool  at  the  best  of  times," 
he  said  irritably,  "and  at  present  she  knows  no  more 
what  she  is  saying  than  a  baby.  Her  mind  is  thrown 
completely  off  any  little  balance  that  it  had  and  she  is  to 
all  intents  and  purposes  a  lunatic." 

Only  with  his  friend  Mr.  Person,  who  called  upon  him 
after  the  first  visit  bad  been  paid  to  Mrs.  Mulready  im- 
mediately after  her  husband's  body  had  been  brought  in, 
did  Dr.  Green  discuss  in  any  way  what  had  happened. 

"I  agree  with  you,  Person,  in  doubting  whether  the 
poor  boy  had  a  hand  in  this  terrible  business.  "We  both 
know,  of  course,  that  owing  to  the  bad  training  and  total 
absence  of  control  when  he  was  a  child  in  India  his  tem- 
per was,  when  he  first  came  here,  very  hot  and  ungov- 
ernable. His  father  often  deplored  the  fact  to  me, 
blaming  himself  as  being  to  a  great  extent  responsible 
for  it,  through  not  having  bad  time  to  watch  and  curb 
him  when  he  was  a  child;  but  he  was,  as  you  say,  an  ex- 
cellently disposed  boy,  and  your  testimony  to  the  efforts 
which  he  has  made  to  overcome  his  faults  is  valuable. 
But  I  cannot  conceal  from  you,  who  are  a  true  friend  of 
the  boy's,  what  I  should  certainly  tell  to  no  one  else, 
namely,  that  I  fear  that  his  mother's  evidence  will  be 
terribly  against  him. 

"She  has  always  been  prejudiced  against  him.  She  is 
a  silly,  selfish  woman.  So  far  as  I  could  judge  she  cared 
little  for  her  first  husband,  who  was  a  thousand  times  too 
good  for  her;  but  strangely  enough  she  appears  to  have 
had  something  like  a  real  affection  for  this  man  Mul- 
ready, who,  between  ourselves,  I  believe,  in  spite  of  his 
general  popularity  in  the  town,  to  have  been  a  bad  fel« 


182  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  F. 

low.  One  doesn't  like  to  speak  ill  of  the  dead  under 
ordinary  circumstances,  but  his  character  is  an  important 
element  in  the  question  before  us.  Of  course  among  my 
poorer  patients  I  hear  things  of  which  people  in  general 
are  ignorant,  and  it  is  certain  that  there  was  no  employer 
in  this  part  of  the  country  so  thoroughly  and  heartily 
1  detested  by  his  men." 

'  "I  agree  with  you  cordially,"  Mr.  Person  said.  "Un- 
fortunately I  know  from  Ned's  own  lips  that  the  lad 
hated  his  stepfather;  but  I  can't  bring  myself  to  believe 
that  he  has  done  this." 

"I  hope  not,"  the  doctor  said  gravely,  "I  am  sure  I 
hope  not;  but  I  have  been  talking  with  his  brother,  who 
is  almost  heart-broken,  poor  boy,and  he  tells  me  that  there 
was  a  terrible  scene  last  night.  It  seems  that  Mulready  was 
extremely  cross  and  disagreeable  at  tea-time;  nothing, 
however,  took  place  at  the  table;  but  after  the  meal  was 
over,  and  the  two  boys  were  alone  together  in  that  little 
study  of  theirs,  Ned  made  some  disparaging  remarks 
about  Mulready.  The  door,  it  seems,  was  open.  The 
man  overheard  them,  and  brutally  assaulted  the  boy,  and 
indeed  Charlie  thought  that  he  was  killing  him.  He 
rushed  in  and  fetched  his  mother,  who  interfered,  but 
not  before  Ned  had  been  sadly  knocked  about.  Mul- 
ready then  drove  off  to  his  factory,  and  Ned,  who  seems 
to  have  been  half-stunned,  went  out  almost  without  say- 
ing a  word,  and,  as  you  know,  hasn't  been  heard  of  since. 

"It  certainly  looks  very  dark  against  him.  You  and 
I,  knowing  the  boy,  and  liking  him,  may  have  our  doubts, 
but  the  facts  are  terribly  pgainst  him,  and  unless  he  is 
absolutely  in  the  position  to  prove  an  alibi,  I  fear  that  it 
will  go  hard  with  him." 

"I  cannot  believe  it,"  Mr.  Porson  said,  "although  I 
tfdmit  that  the  facts  are  terribly  against  him.  Pray,  if 
you  get  an  opportunity  urge  upon  his  mother  that  her 


THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  T.  183 

talk  will  do  Ned  horrible  damage  and  may  cost  him  his 
life.  I  shall  at  once  go  and  instruct  Wakefield  to  appear 
for  him,  if  he  is  taken,  and  to  obtain  the  best  profes- 
sional assistance  for  his  defense.  I  feel  completely  un- 
hinged by  the  news,  the  "boy  has  been  such  a  favorite  of 
mine  ever  since  I  came  here;  he  has  fought  hard  against 
his  faults,  and  had  the  makings  of  a  very  fine  character 
in  him.  God  grant  that  he  may  be  able  to  clear  himself 
of  this  terrible  accusation!" 

Ned's  first  examination  was  held  on  the  morning  after 
he  had  given  himself  up,  before  Mr.  Simmonds  and  Mr. 
Thompson.  The  sitting  was  a  private  one.  The  man 
who  first  found  Mr.  Mulready's  body  testified  to  the  fact 
that  a  rope  had  been  laid  across  the  road.  Constable 
Williams  proved  that  when  he  arrived  upon  the  spot 
nothing  had  been  touched.  Man  and  horse  lay  where 
they  had  fallen,  the  gig  was  broken  in  pieces,  a  strong 
rope  was  stretched  across  the  road.  He  said  that  on 
taking  the  news  to  Mrs.  Mulready  he  had  learned  from 
the  servants  that  the  prisoner  had  not  slept  at  home  that 
night,  and  that  there  had  been  a  serious  quarrel  between 
him  and  the  deceased  the  previous  evening. 

After  hearing  this  evidence  Ned  was  asked  if  he  was 
in  a  position  to  account  for  the  time  which  had  elapsed 
between  his  leaving  home  and  his  arrival  at  his  nurse's 
cottage. 

He  replied  that  he  could  only  say  that  he  had  been 
wandering  on  the  moor. 

The  case  was  remanded  for  a  week,  as  the  evidence  of 
Mrs.  Mulready  and  the  others  in  the  house  would  be 
necessary,  and  it  was  felt  that  a  mother  could  not  be 
called  upon  to  testify  against  her  son  with  her  husband 
lying  dead  in  the  house. 

"I  am  sorry  indeed  to  see  you  in  this  position,"  Mr. 
Simmonds  said  to  Ned.  "My  friendship  for  your  late 


184  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  Y. 

father,  and  I  may  say  for  yourself,  makes  the  position 
doubly  painful  to  me,  but  I  can  only  do  my  duty.  I 
should  advise  you  to  say  nothing  at  this  period  of  the 
proceedings;  but  if  there  is  anything  which  you  think  of 
importance  to  say,  and  which  will  give  another  complex- 
ion to  the  case,  I  am  ready  to  hear  it." 

"I  have  nothing  to  say,  sir,"  Ned  said  quietly,  "ex- 
cept that  I  am  wholly  innocent  of  the  affair.  As  you 
may  see  by  my  face  I  was  brutally  beaten  by  my  step- 
father on  the  evening  before  his  death.  I  went  out  of 
the  house  scarce  knowing  what  I  was  doing.  I  had  no 
fixed  intention  of  going  anywhere  or  of  doing  anything, 
I  simply  wanted  to  get  away  from  home.  I  went  on  to 
the  moors  and  wandered  about,  I  suppose  for  some  hours. 
Then  I  threw  myself  down  under  the  shelter  of  a  pile  of 
stones  and  lay  there  awake  till  it  was  morning.  Then  I 
determined  to  go  to  the  house  of  my  old  nurse  and  to 
stop  there  until  I  was  fit  to  be  seen.  In  the  afternoon  I 
heard  what  had  taken  place  here,  and  that  I  was  accused 
of  the  murder,  and  I  at  once  came  over  here  and  gave 
myself  up." 

"As  you  are  not  in  a  position  to  prove  what  you  state," 
Mr.  Simmonds  said,  "we  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  re- 
mand the  case  until  this  day  week.  I  may  say  that  I 
have  received  a  letter  from  Dr.  Green  saying  that  he  and 
Mr.  Porson  are  ready  to  become  your  bail  to  any  amount; 
but  we  could  not  think  of  accepting  bail  in  a  charge  of 
murder." 

Ned  bowed  and  followed  the  constable  without  a  word 
to  the  cells.  His  appearance  had  not  been  calculated  to 
create  a  favorable  impression.  His  clothes  were  stained 
and  muddy;  his  lips  were  swollen,  his  eyes  were  discolored 
and  so  puffed  that  he  could  scarcely  see  between  the  lids, 
his  forehead  was  bruised  and  cut  in  several  places.  He 
had  passed  two  sleepless  nights;  his  voice  had  lost  its 


THROUGH  THE  FMA7.  185 

clearness  of  ring  and  was  low  and  husky.  Mr.  Simmonds 
shook  his  head  to  his  fellow  magistrate. 

"I  am  afraid  it's  a  bad  case,  Thompson,  but  the  lad 
has  been  terribly  ill-used,  there  is  no  doubt  about  that. 
It's  a  thousand  pities  he  takes  up  the  line  of  denying  it 
altogether.  If  he  were  to  say,  what  is  no  doubt  the 
truth,  that  having  been  brutally  beaten  he  put  the  rop« 
across  the  road  intending  to  punish  and  even  injure  hii 
stepfather,  but  without  any  intention  of  killing  him,  I 
think  under  the  circumstances  of  extreme  provocation, 
and  what  interest  we  could  bring  to  bear  on  the  matter, 
he  would  get  off  the  capital  punishment,  for  the  jury 
would  be  sure  to  recommend  him  to  mercy.  I  shall  pri- 
vately let  Green  and  Porson,  who  are  evidently  acting  as 
his  friends  in  the  matter,  know  that  I  think  it  would  be 
far  better  for  him  to  tell  the  truth  and  throw  himself  on 
the  mercy  of  the  crown." 

"They  may  not  find  him  guilty,"  Mr.  Thompson  said. 
"The  jury  will  see  that  he  received  very  strong  provoca- 
tion; and  after  all,  he  evidence  is,  so  far  as  we  know  at 
present,  wholly  circumstantial,  and  unless  the  proscution 
can  bring  home  to  him  the  possession  of  the  rope,  it  is 
likely  enough  they  will  give  him  the  benefit  of  the 
doubt." 

"His  life  is  ruined  anyhow,"  Mr.  Simmonds  said. 
"Poor  lad!  poor  lad!  Another  fortnight  and  I  was  go- 
ing to  apply  for  a  commission  for  him.  I  wish  to  heavens 
I  had  done  so  at  Christmas,  and  then  all  this  misery 
fpould  have  been  spared." 

As  soon  as  Ned  had  been  led  back  to  the  cell  Mr.  Por- 
son obtained  permission  to  visit  him.  He  found  him  in 
a  strange  humor. 

"Well,  my  poor  boy,"  he  began,  "this  is  a  terribl* 
business." 

"Who  do  you  mean  it  is  a  terrible  business  for,  Mr 
Person,  me  or  him?" 


186  THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  T. 

Ned  spoke  in  a  hard  unnatural  voice,  without  th« 
slightest  tone  of  trouble  or  emotion.  Mr.  Person  per- 
ceived at  once  that  his  nerves  were  brought  up  to  such  a 
state  of  tension  by  the  events  of  the  preceding  forty- 
eight  hours  that  he  was  scarce  responsible  for  what  he 
was  saying. 

"I  think  I  meant  for  you,  Ned.  I  cannot  pretend  to 
have  any  feeling  for  the  man  who  is  dead,  especially 
when  I  look  at  your  face." 

"Yes,  it  is  not  a  nice  position  for  me,"  Ned  said  coldly, 
"just  at  the  age  of  seventeen  to  be  suspected  of  the  mur- 
der of  one's  stepfather,  and  such  a  nice  stepfather  too, 
such  a  popular  man  in  the  town!  And  not  only  sus- 
pected, but  with  a  good  chance  of  being  hung  for  it!" 

"Ned,  my  dear  boy,"  Mr.  Person  said  kindly,  "don't 
talk  in  that  way.  You  know  that  we,  your  friends,  are 
sure  that  you  did  not  do  it." 

"Are  you  quite  sure,  sir?"  Ned  said.  "I  am  not  quite 
sure  myself.  I  know  I  should  have  done  it  if  I  had  had 
the  chance.  I  thought  over  all  sorts  of  ways  in  which 
I  might  kill  him,  and  I  wouldn't  quite  swear  that  I  did 
not  think  of  this  plan  and  carry  it  out,  though  it  doesn't 
quite  seem  to  me  that  I  did.  I  have  no  very  definite 
idea  what  happened  that  night,  and  certainly  could  give 
but  a  vague  account  of  myself  from  the  time  I  left  the 
house  till  next  morning,  when  I  found  myself  lying  stiff 
and  half -frozen  on  the  moor.  Anyhow,  whether  I  killed 
him  or  not  it's  all  the  same.  I  should  have  done  so  if  I 
could.  And  if  some  one  else  has  saved  me  the  trouble  I 
suppose  I  ought  to  feel  obliged  to  him." 

Mr.  Person  saw  that  in  Ned's  present  state  it  was  use- 
less to  talk  to  him,  Two  nights  without  sleep,  together 
with  the  intense  excitement  he  had  gone  through,  had 
worked  his  brain  to  such  a  state  of  tension  that  he  was 
not  responsible  for  what  be  was  saying.  Farther  con* 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  Y.  18? 

versation  would  do  him  harm  rather  than  good.  What 
he  required  was  rest  and,  if  possible,  sleep.  Mr.  Person 
therefore  only  said  quietly: 

"We  will  not  talk  about  it  now,  Ned;  your  brain  is 
over-excited  with  all  you  have  gone  through.  What  you 
want  now  is  rest  and  sleep." 

"I  don't  feel  sleepy,  Mr.  Person.  I  don't  feel  as  if  I 
should  ever  get  to  sleep  again.  I  don't  look  like  it, 
do  I?" 

"No,  Ned,  I  don't  think  you  do  at  present;  but  I  wish 
you  did,  my  boy.  Well,  remember  that  we,  your  old 
friends,  all  believe  you  innocent  of  this  thing,  and  that 
we  will  spare  no  pains  to  prove  it  to  the  world.  I  see," 
he  said,  looking  at  the  table,  "that  you  have  not  touched 
your  breakfast.  I  am  not  surprised  that  you  could  not 
eat  it.  I  will  see  that  you  have  a  cup  of  really  good  tea 
sent  you  in." 

"No,"  Ned  said  with  a  laugh  which  it  pained  Mr.  Por- 
son  to  hear,  "I  have  not  eaten  since  I  had  tea  at  home. 
It  was  only  the  day  before  yesterday,  but  it  seems  a  year." 

On  leaving  the  cell  Mr.  Person  went  to  Dr.  Green, 
tfho  lived  only  three  or  four  doors  away,  told  him  of  the 
state  in  which  he  had  found  Ned,  and  begged  him  to 
give  him  a  strong  and,  as  far  as  possible,  tasteless  seda- 
tive, and  to  put  it  in  a  cup  of  tea. 

"Yes,  that  will  be  the  best  thing,"  the  doctor  replied. 
"I  had  better  not  go  and  see  him,  for  talking  will  do 
him  harm  rather  than  good.  We  shall  be  having  him  on 
our  hands  with  brain-fever  if  this  goes  on.  I  will  go 
round  with  the  tea  myself  to  the  head  constable  and  tell 
him  that  no  one  must  on  any  account  be  permitted  to 
Bee  Ned,  and  that  rest  and  quiet  are  absolutely  necessary 
for  him.  I  will  put  a  strong  dose  of  opium  into  the 
tea." 

Ten  minutes  later  Dr.  Green  called  upon  the  chief 


188  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  7. 

constable  and  told  him  that  he  feared  from  what  he  iiau 
heard  from  Mr.  Porson  that  Ned  was  in  a  very  critical 
state,  and  that  unless  he  got  rest  and  sleep  he  would 
probably  have  an  attack  of  brain-fever,  even  if  his  mind 
did  not  give  way  altogether. 

"I  was  intending  to  have  him  removed  at  once/'  the 
officer  said,  "to  a  comfortable  room  at  my  own  house., 
He  was  only  placed  where  he  is  temporarily.  I  exchanged 
a  few  words  with  him  after  the  examination  and  was 
struck  myself  with  the  strangeness  of  his  tone.  Won't 
you  see  him?" 

"I  think  that  any  talk  is  bad  for  him,"  the  doctor  said. 
"I  have  put  a  strong  dose  of  opium  in  this  tea,  and  I 
hope  it  will  send  him  off  to  sleep.  When  he  recovers  I 
will  see  him." 

"I  think,  doctor,"  the  constable  said  significantly,  "it 
would  be  a  good  thing  if  you  were  to  see  him  at  once. 
You  see,  if  things  go  against  him,  and  between  ourselves 
the  case  is  a  very  ugly  one,  if  you  could  get  ic  the  box 
and  say  that  you  saw  him  here,  and  that,  in  your  opinion, 
his  mind  was  shaken,  and  that  as  likely  as  not  he  vhad 
not  been  responsible  for  his  actions  from  the  time  ha  left 
his  mother's  house,  it  might  save  his  life." 

"That  is  a  capital  idea,"  Dr.  Green  said,  "and  Person's 
evidence  would  back  mine.  Yes,  I  will  go  in  and  sea 
him  even  if  my  visit  does  do  him  harm." 

"I  will  move  him  into  his  new  quarters  first,"  the  offi- 
cer said;  "then  if  he  drinks  the  tea  he  may,  if  he  feels 
sleepy,  throw  himself  on  the  bed  and  go  off.  He  will  be 
quiet  and  undisturbed  there." 

Two  or  three  minutes  later  the  doctor  was  shown  into 
a  comfortable  room.  A  fire  was  burning  brightly,  and 
the  tea  was  placed  on  a  little  tray  with  a  new  roll  and  a 
pat  of  butter. 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  189 

Ned's  mood  had  somewhat  changed.  He  received  the 
doctor  with  a  boisterous  laugh. 

"How  are  you,  doctor?  Here  I  am,  you  see,  monarch 
of  all  I  survey.  This  is  the  first  time  you  have  visited 
me  in  a  room  which  I  could  consider  entirely  my  own. 
Not  a  bad  place  either." 

"I  hope  you  will  not  be  here  long,  Ned,"  Dr.  Green 
said,  humoring  him.  "We  shall  all  dolour  best  to  get  you 
out  as  soon  as  we  can." 

"I  don't  think  your  trying  will  be  of  much  use,  doc- 
tor; but  -what's  the  odds  as  long  aa  you  are  happy!" 

"That's  right,  my  boy,  nothing  like  looking  at  matters 
cheerfully.  You  know,  lad,  how  warmly  all  your  old 
friends  are  with  you.  "Would  you  like  me  to  bring 
Charlie  next  time  I  come?" 

"No,  no,  doctor,"  Ned  said  almost  with  a  cry.  "No. 
I  have  thought  it  over,  and  Charlie  must  not  see  me.  It 
will  do  him  harm  and  I  shall  break  down.  I  shall  have 
to  see  him  at  the  trial — of  course  he  must  be  there — that 
will  be  bad  enough." 

"Very  well,"  the  doctor  said  quietly,  "just  as  you 
like,  Ned.  I  shall  be  seeing  you  every  day,  and  will  give 
him  news  of  you.  I  am  going  to  see  him  now." 

"Tell  him  I  am  well  and  comfortable  and  jolly,"  Ned 
said  recklessly. 

"I  will  tell  him  you  are  comfortable,  Ned,  and  I  should 
like  to  tell  him  that  you  had  eaten  your  breakfast." 

"Oh,  yes!  Tell  him  that.  Say  I  ate  it  voraciously." 
And  he  swallowed  down  the  cup  of  tea  and  took  a  bite  at 
the  roll. 

"I  will  tell  him,"  Dr.  Green  said.  "I  will  come  in 
again  this  evening,  and  will  perhaps  bring  in  with  me  a 
little  medicine.  You  will  be  all  the  better  for  a  soothing 
draught," 


190  THRO  UQH  THE  FRA  T. 

"I  want  no  draughts,"  Ned  said.  "Why  should  I? 
I  am  as  right  as  ninepence." 

"Very  well.  We  will  see,"  the  dector  said.  "Now  I 
must  be  going  my  rounds." 

As  soon  as  he  had  gone  Ned  began  pacing  up  and  down 
the  room,  as  he  had  done  the  whole  of  the  past  night 
without  intermission.  Gradually,  however,  the  powerful 
narcotic-began  to  take  effect.  His  walk  became  slower, 
his  head  began  to  droop,  and  at  last  he  stumbled  toward 
the  bed  in  the  corner  of  the  room,  threw  himself  heavily 
down,  and  was  almost  instantly  sound  asleep.  Five 
minutes  later  the  door  opened  quietly  and  Dr.  Green 
entered. 

He  had  been  listening  outside  the  door,  had  noticed 
the  change  in  the  character  of  Ned's  walk,  and  having 
heard  the  fall  upon  the  bed,  and  had  no  fear  of  his  rous- 
ing himself  at  his  entrance.  The  boy  was  lying  across 
the  bed,  and  the  doctor,  who  was  a  powerful  man,  lifted 
him  gently  and  laid  him  with  his  head  upon  the  pillow. 
He  felt  his  pulse,  and  lifted  his  eyelid. 

"It  was  a  strong  dose,"  he  said  to  himself,  "far  stronger 
than  I  should  have  dared  give  him  at  any  other  time,  but 
nothing  less  would  have  acted,  with  his  brain  in  such  an 
excited  state.  I  must  keep  in  the  town  to-day  and  look 
in  from  time  to  time  and  see  how  he  is  going  on.  It 
may  be  that  I  shall  have  to  take  steps  to  rouse  him." 

At  the  next  visit  Dr.  Green  looked  somewhat  anxious 
as  he  listened  to  the  boy's  breathing  and  saw  how  strongly 
he  was  under  the  influence  of  the  narcotic.  "Under 
any  other  circumstances,'  he  said  to  the  chief  constable, 
who  had  entered  the  room  with  him,  "I  should  take  strong 
measures  to  arouse  him  at  once,  but  as  it  is  I  will  risk  it. 
I  know  it  is  a  risk  both  for  him  and  me,  for  a  nice  scrape 
I  should  get  in  if  he  slipped  through  my  fingers;  but 


THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  F.  191 

unless  he  gets  sleep  I  believe  his  brain  will  go,  and  any- 
thing is  better  than  that." 

"Yes,  poor  lad,"  the  officer  said.  "When  I  look  at 
his  face  I  confess  my  sympathies  are  all  with  him  rather 
than  with  the  man  he  killed." 

"I  don't  think  he  killed  him,"  the  doctor  said  quietly. 
"I  am  almost  sure  he  didn't.' 

"You  don't  say  so!"  the  chief  constable  said,  sur- 
prised. "I  had  not  the  least  doubt  about  it." 

"No.  Nobody  seems  to  have  the  least  doubt  about 
it,"  the  doctor  said  bitterly.  "I  am  almost  sure  that  he 
had  nothing  to  do  with  it;  but  if  he  did  it  it  was  when 
he  was  in  a  state  of  such  passion  that  he  was  practically 
irresponsible  for  his  actions.  At  any  rate,  I  am  prepared 
to  swear  that  his  mind  is  unhinged  at  present.  I  will  go 
back  now  and  fetch  two  or  three  books  and  will  then  sit 
by  him.  He  needs  watching." 

For  several  hours  the  doctor  sat  reading  by  Ned's  bed- 
side. From  time  to  time  he  leaned  over  the  lad,  listened 
to  his  breathing,  felt  his  pulse,  and  occasionally  lifted 
his  eyelid.  After  one  of  these  examinations,  late  in  the 
afternoon,  he  rose  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  pulled  down  the 
blinds,  gently  drew  the  curtains,  and  then,  taking  his 
books,  went  down  and  noiselessly  closed  the  door  after 
him. 

"Thank  God!  he  will  do  now,"  he  said  to  the  chief 
constable;  "bnt  it  has  been  a  very  near  squeak,  and  I 
thought  several  times  I  should  have  to  take  immediate 
steps  to  wake  him.  However,  the  effects  are  passing  off, 
and  he  will  soon  be  in  a  natural  sleep.  Pray  let  the 
house  be  kept  as  quiet  as  possible,  and  let  no  one  go  near 
him.  The  chances  are  he  will  sleep  quietly  till  morning." 

The  doctor  called  again  the  last  thing  that  evening, 
but  was  told  that  no  stir  had  been  heard  in  Ned's  room,. 


192  THROUGH  THE  FRA*. 

and  the  same  report  met  him  when  he  came  again  next 
morning. 

"That  is  capital,"  he  said.  "Let  him  sleep  on.  He 
has  a  long  arrears  to  make  up.  I  shall  not  be  going  out 
to-day;  please  send  in  directly  he  wakes." 

"Very  well,"  the  officer  replied.  "I  will  put  a  man 
outside  his  door,  and  the  moment  a  move  is  heard  I  will 
let  you  know." 


TH$  FZAM.  193 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

COMMITTED  FOB  TRIAL. 

IT  "was  not  until  after  midday  that  the  message  arrived, 
and  Dr.  Green  at  once  went  in.  Ned  was  sitting  on  the 
side  of  the  bed,  a  constable  having  come  off  with  the 
message  as  soon  as  he  heard  him  make  the  first  move. 

"Well,  Ned,  how  are  you  now?'*  Dr.  Green  asked 
cheerfully  as  he  went  to  the  window  and  drew  back  the 
curtains.  "Had  a  good  sleep,  my  boy,  and  feel  all  the 
better  for  it,  I  hope." 

"Yes,  I  think  I  have  been  asleep,"  Ned  said  in  a  far 
more  natural  voice  than  that  of  the  previous  day.  "How 
did  the  curtains  get  drawn?" 

"I  drew  them,  Ned.  I  looked  in  in  the  afternoon, 
and  found  you  fast  asleep,  so  I  darkened  the  room." 

"Why,  what  time  is  it  now?"  Ned  asked. 

"Half-past  twelve,  Ned." 

"Half-past  twelve!    Why,  how  can  that  be?" 

"Why,  my  boy,  you  have  had  twenty-two  hours'  sleep." 

Ned  gave  an  exclamation  of  astonishment. 

"You  had  two  nights'  arrears  to  make  up  for,  and 
nature  is  not  to  be  outraged  in  that  way  with  impunity. 
I  am  very  thankful  that  you  had  a  good  night,  for  J  was 
really  anxious  about  you  yesterday." 

"I  feel  rather  heavy  and  stupid  now,"  Ned  said,  "but 
I  am  all  the  better  for  my  sleep.  Let  me  think,"  he  be- 
gan, looking  round  the  room^  for  up  till  now  remem- 


194  f-fflfc  vStE  THE  PR  A  7. 

brance  of  the  past  had  not  come  back  again,  "what  am  I 
doing  here?    Oh!  I  remember  now.'" 

"You  are  here,  my  boy,  on  a  charge  of  which  I  have 
no  doubt  we  shall  prove  you  innocent.  Of  course  Porson 
and  I  and  all  your  friends  know  you  are  innocent,  but  we 
have  got  to  prove  it  to  the  world,  and  we  shall  want  all 
your  wits  to  help  us.  But  we  needn't  talk  about  that 
now.  The  first  thing  for  you  to  do  is  to  put  your  head 
in  a  basin  of  water.  By  the  time  you  have  had  a  good 
wash  your  breakfast  will  be  here.  I  told  my  old  cook  to 
prepare  it  when  I  came  out,  and  as  you  are  a  favorite  of 
hers  I  have  no  doubt  it  will  be  a  good  one.  After  you 
have  discussed  that  we  can  talk  matters  over.  I  sent  my 
boy  down  to  the  school  just  now  to  ask  Porson  to  come 
up  here  in  half  an  hour.  Then  we  three  can  lay  our 
heads  together  and  see  what  are  the  best  steps  to  take." 

"Let  me  see,"  Ned  said  thoughtfully.  "Was  I  dream- 
ing, or  have  I  seen  Mr.  Porson  since  I  came  here?" 

"You  are  not  dreaming,  Ned;  but  the  fact  is,  you 
were  not  quite  yourself  yesterday.  The  excitement  you 
had  gone  through  had  been  too  much  for  you." 

"It  all  seems  a  dream  to  me,"  Ned  said  in  a  hopeless 
tone,  "a  confused,  muddled  sort  of  dream." 

"Don't  think  about  it  now,  Ned,"  the  doctor  said 
cheerfully,  "but  get  off  your  things  at  once,  and  set  to 
and  sluice  your  head  well  with  water.  I  will  be  back  ia 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  with  the  breakfast." 

At  the  end  of  that  time  the  doctor  returned,  his  bo? 
carrying  a  tray.  The  constable  on  duty  took  it  freru 
him,  and  would  have  carried  it  into  Ned's  room,  but  the 
doctor  said: 

"Give  it  me,  Walker.  I  will  take  it  in  myself.  I 
don't  want  him  to  see  any  of  you  just  at  present.  His 
head's  in  a  queer  state,  and  the  less  he  is  impressed  with 
the  fact  that  he  is  in  charge  the  better." 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  195 

Dr,  Green  found  Ned  looking  all  the  better  for  his 
wash.  The  swelling  of  his  face  had  now  somewhat 
abated,  but  the  bruises  were  showing  out  in  darker 
colors  than  before;  still  he  looked  fresher  and  better. 

"Here  is  your  breakfast,  Ned,  and  if  you  don't  enjoy 
it  Jane  will  be  terribly  disappointed." 

"I  shall  enjoy  it,  doctor.  I  feel  very  weak;  but  I  do 
think  I  am  hungry." 

"You  ought  to  be,  Ned,  seeing  that  you  have  eaten 
nothing  for  two  days." 

The  doctor  removed  the  cloth  which  cohered  the  tray. 
The  meal  consisted  of  three  kidneys  and  two  eggs,  and  a 
great  pile  of  buttered  toast.  The  steam  curled  out  of 
the  spout  of  a  dainty  china  teapot,  and  there  was  a  small 
jug  brimful  of  cream. 

The  tears  came  into  Ned's  eyes. 

"Oh!  how  good  you  are,  doctor!" 

"Nonsense,  good!"  the  doctor  said;  "come,  eat  away, 
that  will  be  the  best  thanks  to  Jane  and  me." 

Ned  needed  no  pressing.  He  ate  languidly  at  first; 
but  his  appetite  came  as  he  went  on,  and  he  drank  cup 
after  cup  of  the  fragrant  tea,  thick  with  cream.  With 
the  exception  of  one  egg,  he  cleared  the  tray. 

"There,  doctor!"  he  said,  as  he  pushed  back  his  chair; 
"if  you  are  as  satisfied  as  I  am  you  must  be  contented 
indeed." 

"I  am,  Ned;  that  meal  has  done  us  both  a  world  of 
good.  Ah!  here  is  Porson,  just  arrived  at  the  right 
moment." 

"How  are  you,  Ned?"  the  master  asked  heartily. 

"I  am  quite  well,  sir,  thank  you.  Sleep  and  the  doc- 
tor, and  the  doctor's  cook,  have  done  wonders  for  me.  I 
hear  you  came  yesterday,  sir,  but  I  don't  seem  to  remem- 
ber much  about  it." 

"Yes,  I  was  here,  Ned,"  Mr.  Porson  said,  "but  you 


196  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

were  pretty  well  stupid  from  want  of  sleep.  However,  I 
am  glad  to  see  you  quite  yourself  again  this  morning." 

"And  now,"  the  doctor  said,  "we  three  must  put  our 
heads  together  and  see  what  is  to  be  done.  You  under- 
stand, Ned,  how  matters  stand,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  Ned  said  after  a  pause;  "I  seem  to  know 
that  some  one  said  that  Mr.  Mulready  was  dead,  and 
some  one  thought  that  J  had  killed  him,  and  then  I 
started  to  come  over  to  give  myself  up.  Oh!  yes,  I  re- 
member that,  and  then  there  was  an  examination  before 
the  magistrates.  I  remember  it  all;  but  it  seems  just  as 
if  it  had  been  a  dream." 

"Yes,  that  is  what  happened,  Ned,  and  naturally  it 
seems  a  dream  to  you,  because  you  were  so  completely 
overcome  by  excitement  and  want  of  food  and  sleep  that 
you  were  scarcely  conscious  of  what  was  passing.  Now 
we  want  you  to  think  over  quietly,  as  well  as  you  can, 
what  you  did  when  you  left  home." 

Ned  sat  for  a  long  time  without  speaking.  "It  seems 
all  confused,"  he  said  at  last.  "1  don't  even  remember 
going  out  of  the  house.  I  can  remember  his  striking  me 
in  the  face  again  and  again,  and  then  I  heard  my  mother 
scream,  and  everything  seems  to  have  become  misty. 
But  I  know  I  was  walking  about;  I  know  that  I  was 
worrying  to  get  at  him,  and  that  if  I  had  met  him  I 
should  have  attacked  him,  and  if  I  had  had  anything  in 
my  hand  I  should  have  killed  him." 

"But  you  don't  remember  doing  anything,  Ned?  You 
cannot  recall  that  you  went  anywhere  and  got  a  rope  and 
fastened  it  across  the  road  with  the  idea  of  upsetting  his 
gig  on  the  way  back  from  the  mill?" 

"No,  sir,"  Ned  said  decidedly;  "I  can't  recollect  any- 
thing of  that  at  all.  I  am  quite  sure  if  I  had  done  that 
I  should  remember  it;  for  I  seem  to  remember,  now  I 
^think  of  it,  a  good  deal  of  what  I  did.  Yes,  I  went  up 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  F.  197 

through  Varley;  the  lights  weren't  out,  and  I  wondered 
what  Bill  would  say  if  I  were  to  knock  at  his  door  and 
he  opened  it  and  saw  what  a  state  my  face  was  in.  Then 
I  went  out  on  the  moor,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  I  walked 
about  for  hours,  and  the  longer  I  walked  the  more  angry 
I  was.  At  last — it  could  not  have  been  long  before 
morning,  I  think — I  lay  down  for  a  time,  aad  then  when 
it  was  light  I  made  up  my  mind  to  go  over  and  see  Abi- 
jah.  I  knew  she  would  be  with  me.  That's  all  I  re- 
member about  it.  Does  my  mother  think  I  did  it?" 

Dr.  Green  hesitated  a  moment. 

"Your  mother  is  not  in  a  state  to  think  one  way  or 
the  other,  Ned;  she  is  in  such  a  state  of  grief  that  she 
hardly  knows  what  she  is  saying  or  doing." 

In  fact  Mrs.  Mulready  entertained  no  doubt  whatever 
upon  the  subject,  and  had  continued  to  speak  of  Ned's 
wickedness  until  Dr.  Green  that  morning  had  lost  all 
patience  with  her,  and  told  her  she  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  herself  to  be  the  first  to  accuse  her  son,  and  that  if  he 
was  hung  she  would  only  have  herself  to  blame  for  it. 

Ned  guessed  by  the  doctor's  answer  that  his  mother 
was  against  him. 

"It  is  curious,"  he  said,  "she  did  not  take  on  so  after 
my  father's  death,  and  he  was  always  kind  and  good  to 
her,  while  this  man  was  just  the  reverse." 

"There's  never  any  understanding  women,"  Dr.  Green 
said  testily,  "and  your  mother  is  a  singularly  inconse- 
quent and  weak  specimen  of  her  sex.  Well,  Ned,  and  so 
that  is  all  you  can  tell  us  about  the  way  you  passed  that 
unfortunate  evening.  What  a  pity  it  is,  to  be  sure,  that 
you  did  not  rouse  up  your  friend  Bill.  His  evidence 
would  probably  have  cleared  you  at  once.  As  it  is,  ol 
course  we  believe  your  story,  my  boy.  The  question  is, 
will  the  jury  believe  it?" 

"I  don't  seem  to  care  much  whether  they  do  or  not," 


198  THRO  UOII  THE  FRA  Y. 

Ned  said  sadly,  "unless  we  find  the  man  who  did  it. 
Every  one  will  think  me  guilty  even  if  I  am  acquitted. 
Fancy  going  on  living  al-  one's  life  and  knowing  that 
everyone  one  meets  is  thinking  to  himself,  'That  is  the 
man  »vho  killed  his  stepfather' — it  would  be  better  to  be 
hung  at  once." 

"You  must  look  at  it  in  a  more  hopeful  way  than  that, 
Ned,"  Mr.  Porson  said  kindly;  "many  will  from  the  first 
believe,,  with  us,  that  you  are  innocent.  You  will  live  it 
down,  my  boy,  and  sooner  or  later  we  may  hope  and  be- 
lieve that  God  will  suffer  the  truth  to  be  known.  At  the 
worst,  you  know  you  need  not  go  on  living  here.  The 
world  is  wide,  and  you  can  go  where  your  story  is  un- 
known. 

"Do  not  look  on  the  darkest  side  of  things.  And  now, 
for  the  present,  I  have  brought  you  down  a  packet  of 
books.  If  I  were  you  I  would  try  to  read — anything  is 
better  than  going  on  thinking.  You  will  want  all  your 
wits  about  you,  and  the  less  you  worry  your  mind  the 
better.  Mr.  Wakefield  will  represent  you  at  the  exami- 
nation next  week;  but  I  do  not  see  that  there  will  be 
much  for  him  to  do,  as  I  fear  there  is  little  doubt  that 
you  will  be  committed  for  trial,  when  of  course  we  shall 
get  the  best  legal  assistance  for  you.  I  will  tell  him  ex- 
actly what  you  have  said  to  me,  and  he  can  then  como 
and  see  you  or  not  as  he  likes.  I  shall  come  in  every 
day.  "I  have  already  obtained  permission  from  the  mag- 
istrates to  do  so.  I  shall  go  now  and  see  Charlie  and 
tell  him  all  about  it.  It  will  cheer  him  very  much,  poor 
boy.  You  may  be  sure  he  didn't  think  you  guilty;  still, 
your  assurance  that  you  know  nothing  whatever  about  it 
will  be  a  comfort  to  him." 

"Yes,"  Ned  said,  "Charlie  knows  that  I  would  not 
tell  a  lie  to  save  my  life,  though  he  knows  that  I  might 
possibly  kill  any  one  when  I  arn  in  one  of  my  horrible 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  199 

tempers;  and  I  did  think  I  was  getting  over  them,  Mr. 
Person!"  he  broke  out  with  a  half  sob.  "I  have  really 
tried  hard." 

"I  know  you  have,  Ned.  I  ain  sure  you  have  done 
your  best,  my  boy,  and  you  have  been  sorely  tried;  but, 
now,  I  must  be  off.  Keep  up  your  spirits,  hope  for  the 
best,  and  pray  God  to  strengthen  you  to  bear  whatever 
may  be  in  store  for  you,  and  to  clear  you  from  this 
charge." 

That  evening  when  Mr.  Porson  was  in  his  study  the 
servant  came  in  and  said  that  a  young  man  wished  to 
speak  to  him. 

"Who  is  it,  Mary?" 

"He  says  his  name  is  Bill  Swinton,  sir." 

"Oh!  I  know,"  the  master  said;  "show  him  in." 

Bill  was  ushered  in. 

"Sit  down,  Bill,"  Mr.  Porson  said;  "I  have  heard  of 
you  as  a  friend  of  Sankey's.  I  suppose  you  have  come 
to  speak  to  me  about  this  terrible  business?" 

<:Ay,"  Bill  said,  "that  oi  be,  sir,  seeing  as  how  Ned 
always  spake  of  you  as  a  true  friend,  and  loiked  you 
hearty.  They  say  too  as  you  ha*  engaged  Lawyer  Wake* 
field  to  defend  him." 

"That  is  so,  Bill.  I  am  convinced  of  the  boy's  inno- 
cence. He  has  always  been  a  favorite  of  mine.  He  has 
no  relations  to  stand  by  him  now,  poor  boy,  so  we  who 
are  his  friends  must  do  our  best  for  him." 

"Surely,"  Bill  said  heartily;  "and  dost  really  think  as 
he  didn't  do  it?" 

"I  may  say  I  am  quite  sure  he  did  not,  Bill.  Didn't 
you  think  so  too?" 

"No,  sir,"  Bill  said;  "it  never  entered  mymoindashe 
didn't  do  it.  Oi  heard  as  how  t'  chap  beat  Maister  Ned 
cruel,  and  it  seemed  to  me  natural  loike  as  he  should 
sarve  him  out.  Oi  didn't  suppose  as  how  he  meant  vor 


800  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

to  kill  him,  but  as  everyone  said  as  how  he  did  the  job  it 
seemed  to  me  loike  enough;  but  of  course  it  didn't  make 
BO  differ  to  oi  whether  so  be  as  he  killed  un  or  not. 
Maister  Ned's  moi  friend,  and  oi  stands  by  him;  still  oi 
be  main  glad  to  hear  as  you  think  he  didn't  do  it;  but 
will  the  joodge  believe  it?" 

"Ah!  that  I  cannot  say/'  Mr.  Porson  replied.  "I 
know  the  lad  and  believe  his  word;  but  at  present  ap- 
pearances are  sadly  against  him.  That  unfortunate  affair 
that  he  had  with  my  predecessor  induced  a  general  idea 
that  he  was  very  violent-tempered.  Then  it  has  been 
notorious  that  he  and  his  stepfather  di'd  not  get  on  well 
together,  and  this  terrible  quarrel  on  the  evening  of  Mr. 
Mulready's  death  seems  only  too  plainly  to  account  for 
the  affair;  still,  without  further  evidence,  I  question  if  a 
jury  will  find  him  guilty.  It  is  certain  he  had  no  rope 
when  he  went  out,  and  unless  the  prosecution  can  prove 
that  he  got  possession  of  a  rope  they  cannot  bring  the 
guilt  home  to  him." 

"No,  surely,"  Bill  assented,  and  sat  for  some  time 
without  further  speech;  then  he  went  on,  "now,  sir, 
what  oi  be  come  to  thee  about  be  this.  Thou  bee'st  his 
friend  and  knaw'st  best  what  'ould  be  a  good  thing  for 
him.  Now  we  ha*  been  a-talking  aboot  a  plan,  Luke 
Marner  and  oi,  as  is  Maister  Ned's  friends,  and  we  can 
get  plenty  of  chaps  to  join  us.  We  supposes  as  arter  the 
next  toime  as  they  has  him  up  in  coort  they  will  send 
him  off  to  York  Castle  to  be  tried  at  the  'sizes." 

"Yes;  I  have  no  doubt  he  will  be  committed  after  his 
next  appearance,  Bill;  but  what  is  the  plan  that  you  and 
your  friend  Luke  were  thinking  of?" 

"Well,  we  was  a-thinking  vor  twenty  or  so  on  us  to 
coom  down  at  noight  and  break  open  t'  cells.  There  be 
only  t'  chief  constable  and  one  other,  and  they  wouldn't 
be  no  good  agin  us,  and  we  could  get  Maister  Ned  owt 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  F.  201 

and  away  long  afore  t'  sojers  would  have  toime  to  wake 
up  and  coom  round;  then  we  could  hide  un  up  on  t* 
inoor  till  there  was  toime  to  get  un  away  across  the  seas. 
Luke  he  be  pretty  well  bent  on  it,  but  oi  says  as  before 
we  did  nothing  oi  would  coom  and  ax  thee,  seeing  as 
how  thou  bee'st  a  friend  of  his." 

"No,  Bill/'  Mr.  Person  said  gravely.  "It  would  not 
do  at  all,  and  I  am  glad  you  came  to  ask  me.  If  I 
thought  it  certain  that  the  jury  would  find  a  verdict  of 
guilty,  and  that  Ned,  innocent  as  1  believe  him  of  the 
crime,  would  be  hung,  I  should  say  that  your  plan  might 
be  worth  thinking  of;  for  in  that  case  Ned  might  possi- 
bly be  got  away  till  we  his  friends  here  could  get  at  the 
bottom  of  the  matter.  Still  it  would  be  an  acknowledg- 
ment for  the  time  of  his  guilt,  and  I  am  sure  that  Ned 
himself  would  not  run  away  without  standing  his  trial 
even  if  the  doors  of  his  cell  were  opened.  I  shall  see 
him  to-morrow  morning,  and  will  tell  him  of  your  scheme 
on  his  behalf.  I  am  sure  he  will  be  grateful,  but  I  am 
pretty  certain  that  he  will  not  avail  himself  of  it.  If 
you  will  come  down  to-morrow  evening  I  will  let  you 
know  exactly  what  he  says." 

As  Mr.  Porson  expected,  Ned,  although  much  moved 
at  the  offer  of  his  humble  friends  to  free  him  by  force, 
altogether  declined  to  accept  it. 

''It  is  just  like  Bill,"  he  said,  "ready  to  get  into  any 
scrape  himself  to  help  me:  but  I  must  stand  my  trial.  I 
know  that  even  if  they  cannot  prove  me  guilty  I  cannot 
prove  I  am  innocent;  still,  to  run  away  would  be  an  ac- 
knowledgment of  guilt,  and  I  am  not  going  to  do  that." 

On  the  day  appointed  Nod  was  again  brought  up  before 
the  magistrates.  The  examination  was  this  time  in  pub- 
lic, and  the  justice-room  was  crowded.  Ned,  whose  face 
was  now  recovering  from  the  marks  of  ill  usage,  was  pale 
and  quiet.  He  listened  in  silence  to  the  evidence  prov- 


203  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

ing  the  finding  of  Mr.  Mulready's  body.  The  next  wit- 
ness put  into  the  box  was  one  of  the  engineers  at  the 
factory;  he  proved  that  the  rope  which  had  been  used  in 
upsetting  the  gig  had  been  cut  from  one  which  he  had  a 
short  time  before  been  using  for  moving  a  portion  of  the 
machinery.  He  had  used  the  rope  about  an  hour  before 
Mr.  Mulready  came  back  in  the  evening,  and  ife  was  then 
whole.  After  it  had  been  done  with  it  was  thrown  out- 
side the  mill  to  be  out  of  the  way,  as  it  would  not  be 
required  again. 

After  he  had  given  his  evidence  Mr.  Wakefield  asked: 

"Did  you  hear  any  one  outside  the  mill  when  Mr. 
Mulready  was  there?" 

"No,  sir;  I  heard  nothing." 

"Any  one  might  have  entered  the  yard,  I  suppose,  and 
found  the  rope?" 

"Yes;  the  gates  were  open,  as  we  were  at  work." 

"Would  the  rope  be  visible  to  any  one  *ho  entered  the 
yard?" 

"It  would  not  be  seen  plainly,  because  it  was  a  dark 
night;  but  any  one  prowling  about  outside  the  mill  might 
have  stumbled  against  it." 

"You  have  no  reason  whatever  for  supposing  that  it 
Was  Mr.  Edward  Sankey  who  cut  this  rope  more  than 
anyone  else?" 

"No,  sir." 

Charlie  was  the  next  witness.  The  boy  was  as  white 
as  a  sheet,  and  his  eyes  were  swollen  with  crying.  He 
glanced  piteously  at  his  brother,  and  exclaimed  with  a 
sob,  "Oh!  Ned." 

"Don't  mind,  Charlie,"  Ned  said  quietly.  "Tell  the 
whole  story  exactly  as  it  happened.  You  can't  do  me 
any  harm,  old  boy." 

So  encouraged  Charlie  told  the  whole  story  of  the 
quarrel  arising  in  the  first  place  from  his  stepfather's  ill 
temper  at  the  tea-table. 


THROUGH  THE  FRA  F.  203 

"Your  brother  meant  nothing  specially  unpleasant  in 
galling  your  stepfather  Foxey?"  Mr.  Wakefield  asked. 

"No,  sir;  he  had  always  called  him  so  even  before  he 
knew  that  he  was  going  to  marry  mother.  It  was  a 
name,  I  believe,  the  men  called  him,  and  Ned  got  it  from 
them." 

"I  believe  that  your  stepfather  had  received  threaten- 
ing letters,  had  he  not?" 

"Yes,  sir,  several;  he  was  afraid  to  put  his  new  ma- 
chines to  work  because  of  them." 

"Thank  you,  that  will  do,"  Mr.  Wakefield  said.  "I 
have  those  letters  in  my  possession,"  he  went  on  to  the 
magistrates.  "They  are  proof  that  the  deceased  had 
enemies  who  had  threatened  to  take  his  life.  Shall  I 
produce  them  now?" 

"It  is  hardly  worth  while,  Mr.  Wakefield,  though  they 
can  be  brought  forward  at  the  trial.  I  may  say,  indeed, 
that  we  have  seen  some  of  them  already,  for  it  was  on 
account  of  these  letters  that  we  applied  for  the  military 
to  be  stationed  here." 

It  was  not  thought  necessary  to  call  Mrs.  Mulready; 
but  the  servant  gave  her  evidence  as  to  what  she  had 
heard  of  the  quarrel,  and  as  to  the  absence  of  Ned  from 
home  that  night. 

"Unless  you  are  in  a  position  to  produce  evidence,  Mr. 
Wakefield,  proving  clearly  that  at  the  time  the  murder 
was  committed  the  prisoner  was  at  a  distance  from  the 
spot,  we  are  prepared  to  commit  him  for  trial." 

Mr.  Wakefield  intimated  that  he  should  reserve  his 
evidence  for  the  trial  itself,  and  Ned  was  then  formally 
committed. 

The  examination  in  no  way  altered  the  tone  of  public 
opinion.  The  general  opinion  was  that  Ned  had  followed 
his  stepfather  to  the  mill,  intending  to  attack  him,  that 
he  had  stumbled  onto  the  coil  of  rope,  and  the  idea  oc- 


204  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  7. 

curred  to  him'of  tying  it  across  the  road  and  upsetting 
the  gig  on  its  return.  Charlie's  evidence  as  to  the  sav- 
age assault  upon  his  brother  had  created  a  stronger  feel- 
ing of  sympathy  than  had  before  prevailed,  and  had  the 
line  of  defense  been,  that,  smarting  under  his  injuries, 
Ned  had  suddenly  determined  to  injure  his  stepfather  by 
upsetting  the  gig,  but  without  any  idea  of  killing  him, 
the  general  opinion  would  have  been  that  under  such 
provocation  as  Ned  had  received  a  lengthened  term  of 
imprisonment  would  have  been  an  ample  punishment. 
More  than  one,  indeed,  were  heard  to  say,  "Well,  if  I 
were  on  the  jury,  my  verdict  would  be,  Served  him 
right."  Still,  although  there  was  greater  sympathy 
than  before  with  Ned,  there  were  few,  indeed,  who 
doubted  his  guilt. 

After  Ned  was  removed  from  court  he  was  taken  back 
by  the  chief  constable  to  his  house,  and  ten  minutes  later 
he  was  summoned  into  the  parlor,  where  he  found  Charlie 
and  Lucy  waiting  him.  Lucy,  who  was  now  ten  years 
old,  sprang  forward  to  meet  him;  he  lifted  her,  and  for 
awhile  she  lay  with  her  head  on  his  shoulder  and  her 
arms  round  his  neck,  sobbing  bitterly,  while  Charlie 
clung  to  his  brother's  disengaged  hand. 

"Don't  cry,  Lucy,  don't  cry,  little  woman;  it  will  all 
come  right  in  the  end;"  but  Lucy's  tears  were  not  to  be 
stanched.  Ned  sat  down,  and  after  a  time  soothed  her 
into  stillness,  but  she  still  lay  nestled  up  in  his  arms. 

"It  was  dreadful,  Ned,"  Charlie  said,  "having  to  go 
into  court  as  a  witness  against  you.  I  had  thought  of 
running  away,  but  did  not  know  where  to  go  to,  and 
then  Mr.  Person  had  a  talk  with  me  and  told  me  that  it 
was  of  the  greatest  importance  that  I  should  tell  every- 
thing exactly  word  for  word,  just  as  it  happened.  He 
said  every  one  knew  there  had  been  a  quarrel,  and  that 
if  I  did  not  tell  everything  it  would  seem  as  if  I  waa 


THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  T.  205 

keeping  something  back  in  order  to  screen  yon,  and  that 
would  do  you  a  great  deal  of  harm,  and  that,  as  really 
you  were  not  to  blame  in  the  quarrel,  my  evidence  would 
be  in  your  favor  rather  than  against  you.  He  says  he 
knew  that  you  would  wish  me  to  tell  exactly  what  took 
place." 

"Certainly,  Charlie;  there  is  nothing  I  could  want 
hid.  I  was  wrong  to  speak  of  him  as  Foxey,  and  to  let 
fly  as  I  did  about  him;  but  there  was  nothing  intended 
to  offend  him  in  that,  because,  of  course,  I  had  no  idea 
that  he  could  hear  me.  The  only  thing  I  have  to  blame 
myself  very  much  for  is  for  getting  into  a  wild  passion. 
I  don't  think  any  one  would  say  I  did  wrong  in  going 
out  of  the  house  after  being  knocked  about  so;  but  if  I 
had  not  got  into  a  passion,  and  had  gone  straight  to 
Bill's,  or  to  Abijah,  or  to  Mr.  Porson,  which  would  have 
been  best  of  all,  to  have  stopped  the  night,  all  this  would 
not  have  come  upon  me;  but  I  let  myself  get  into  a  blind 
passion  and  stopped  in  it  for  hours,  and  I  am  being  pun- 
ished for  it." 

"It  was  natural  that  you  should  get  in  a  passion," 
Charlie  said  stoutly.  "I  think  any  one  would  have  got 
in  a  passion." 

"I  don't  think  you  would,  Charlie,"  Ned  said,  smiling. 

"No,"  Charlie  replied;  "but  then  you  see  that  is  not 
my  way.  I  should,  have  cried  all  night;  but  then  I  am 
not  a  great,  strong  fellow  like  you,  and  it  would  not  be 
so  hard  to  be  knocked  about." 

"It's  no  use  making  excuses,  Charlie.  I  know  I  ought 
not  to  have  given  way  to  my  -temper  like  that.  Now, 
Lucy  dear,  as  you  are  feeling  better,  you  must  sit  up  and 
talk  to  me.  How  is  mother?" 

"Mother  is  in  bed,"  Lucy  said.  "She's  always  in  bed 
now;  the  house  is  dreadful,  Ned,  without  you,  and  they 
say  you  are  not  to  come  back  yet,"  and  the  tears  came 
T ery  near  to  overflowing  again. 


206  THRO  UGH  THE  Fit  A  F. 

"Ah!  well,  I  hope  I  shall  be  back  before  long,  Lucy." 

"I  hope  so,"  Lucy  said;  "but  you  know  you  will  soon 
be  going  away  again  to  be  a  soldier." 

"I  shall  not  go  away  again  now,  Lucy,"  Ned  said  qui- 
etly. "When  I  come  back  it  will  be  for  good." 

"Oh!  that  will  be  nice,"  Lucy  said  joyously,  "just  as 
it  used  to  be,  with  no  one  to  be  cross  and  scold  about 
everything." 

"Hush!  little  woman,  don't  talk  about  that.  He  had 
his  faults,  dear,  as  we  all  have,  but  he  had  a  -great  deal 
to  worry  him,  and  perhaps  we  did  not  make  allowances 
enough  for  him,  and  I  do  think  he  was  really  fond  of 
you,  Lucy,  and  when  people  are  dead  we  should  never 
speak  ill  of  them." 

"I  don't  want  to,"  Lucy  said,  "and  I  didn't  want  him 
to  be  fond  of  me  when  he  wasn't  fond  of  you  and  Charlie 
or  mother.  It  seems  to  me  he  wasn't  fond  of  mother, 
and  yet  she  does  nothing  but  cry;  I  can't  make  that  out, 
can  you?" 

Ned  did  not  answer;  his  mother's  infatuation  for  Mr. 
Mulready  had  always  been  a  puzzle  to  him,  and  he  could 
at  present  think  of  no  reply  which  would  be  satisfactory 
to  Lucy. 

A  constable  now  came  in  and  said  that  there  were  other 
visitors  waiting  to  see  Ned.  He  then  withdrew,  leaving 
the  lad  to  say  good-by  to  his  brother  and  sister  alone. 
Ned  kept  up  a  brave  countenance,  and  strove  to  make 
the  parting  as  easy  as  possible  for  the  others,  but  both 
were  crying  bitterly  as  they  went  out. 

Ned's  next  visitors  were  Dr.  Green  and  Mr.  Person. 

"We  have  only  a  minute  or  two,  my  boy,"  Mr.  Person 
said,  "for  the  gig  is  at  the  door.  The  chief  constable  is 
going  to  drive  you  to  York  himself.  You  will  go  half- 
way and  sleep  on  the  road  to-night.  It  is  very  good  of 
him,  as  in  that  way  no  one  will  suspect  that  you  are  any 


THROUGH  THE  FRAY.  2(K 

but  a  pair  of  ordinary  travelers.  Keep  up  your  spirits, 
my  boy.  We  have  sent  to  London  for  a  detective  from 
Bow  Street  to  try  and  ferret  out  something  of  this  mys- 
terious business;  and  even  if  we  do  not  succeed,  I  have 
every  faith  that  it  will  come  right  in  the  end.  And  now 
good-by,  my  boy,  I  shall  see  you  in  a  fortnight,  for  of 
course  I  shall  come  over  to  York  to  the  trial  to  give  evi- 
dence as  to  character." 

"And  so  shall  I,  Ned,  my  patients  must  get  on  with- 
out me  for  a  day  or  two,"  the  doctor  said.  "  Mr.  Wake- 
field  is  waiting  to  see  you.  He  has  something  to  tell  you 
which  may  help  to  cheer  you.  He  says  it  is  of  no  legal 
value,  bat  it  seems  to  me  important." 


208  THROUGH 


CHAPTER  XV. 

NOT    GUILTY. 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Person  and  the  doctor  had  left  him 
Mr.  Wakefield  appeared. 

"Well,  Sankey,  I  hope  you  are  not  downcast  at  the 
magistrates'  decision.  It  was  a  certainty  that  they  would 
have  to  commit  you,  as  we  could  not  prove  a  satisfactory 
alibi.  Never  mind,  I  don't  think  any  jury  will  find 
against  you  on  the  evidence  they  have  got,  especially  in 
the  face  of  those  threatening  letters  and  the  fact  that 
several  men  in  Mulready's  position  have  been  murdered 
by  the  Luddites." 

"It  won't  be  much  consolation  to  me,  sir,  to  be  ac- 
quitted if  it  can't  be  proved  to  the  satisfaction  of  every 
one  that  I  am  innocent." 

"Tut,  tut!  my  boy;  the  first  thing  to  do  is  to  get  you 
out  of  the  hands  of  the  law.  After  that  we  shall  have 
time  to  look  about  us  and  see  if  we  can  lay  our  hands  on 
the  right  man.  A  curious  thing  has  happened  to-day 
while  I  was  in  court.  A  little  boy  left  a  letter  for  me  at 
my  office  here;  it  is  an  ill-written  scrawl,  as  you  see,  but 
certainly  important." 

Ned  took  the  paper,  on  which  was  written  in  a  scrawl- 
ing hand: 

"Sir,  Maister  Sankey  be  innocent  of  the  murder  of 
Foxey.  I  doan't  want  to  put  my  neck  in  a  noose,  but  if 
so  be  as  they  finds  him  guilty  in  coort  and  be  a-going  to 
hang  him,  I  shall  come  forward  and  say  as  how  I  did  it. 
I  bean't  agoing  to  let  him  be  hung  for  this  job.  A  loife 
for  a  loife,  saes  oi;  so  tell  him  to  keep  up  his  heart." 

\ 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  K ,  209 

There  was  no  signature  to  the  paper. 

Ned  looked  up  with  delight  in  his  face. 

"But  won't  the  letter  clear  me,  Mr.  Wakefield?  It 
shows  that  it  was  not  me,  but  some  one  else  who  did  it." 

"No,  Sankey,  pray  do  not  cherish  any  false  hopes  on 
that  ground.  The  letter  is  valueless  in  a  legal  way.  To 
you  and  to  your  friends  it  may  be  a  satisfaction;  but  it 
can  have  no  effect  on  the  court.  There  is  nothing  to 
prove  that  it  is  genuine.  It  may  have  been  written  by 
any  friend  of  yours  with  a  view  of  obtaining  your  acquit- 
tal. Of  course  we  shall  put  it  in  at  the  trial,  but  it  can- 
not be  accepted  as  legal  evidence  in  any  way.  Still  a 
thing  of  that  sort  may  h  .ve  an  effect  upon  some  of  the 
jury." 

Ned  looked  again  at  the  letter,  and  a  shade  came  over 
his  face  now  that  he  looked  at  it  carefully.  He  recog- 
nized in  a  moment  Bill's  handwriting.  He  had  himself 
instructed  him  by  setting  him  copies  at  the  time  he  was 
laid  up  with  the  broken  leg,  and  Bill  had  stuck  to  it  so 
far  that  he  was  able  to  read  and  write  in  a  rough  way. 

Ned's  first  impulse  was  to  tell  Mr.  Wakefield  who  had 
written  the  note,  but  he  thought  that  it  might  get  Bill 
into  a  scrape.  It  was  evidently  written  by  his  friend, 
solely  to  create  an  impression  in  his  favor,  and  he  won- 
dered that  such  an  idea  should  have  entered  Bill's  head, 
which  was  by  no  means  an  imaginative  one.  As  to  the 
young  fellow  having  killed  Mr.  Mulready  it  did  not  even 
occur  to  Ned  for  a  moment. 

As,  seated  by  the  side  of  the  chief  constable,  he  drove 
along  that  afternoon,  Ned  turned  it  over  anxiously  in 
his  mind  whether  it  would  be  honest  to  allow  this  letter 
to  be  produced  in  court,  knowing  that  it  was  onlyjihe 
device  of  a  friend.  Finally  he  decided  to  let  matters 
take  their  course. 

"I  am  innocent,"  he  said  to  himself,  "and  what  I  have 


210  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  7. 

got  to  live  for  is  to  clear  myself  from  this  charge.  Mr. 
Wakefield  said  this  letter  would  not  be  of  value  one  way 
or  the  other,  and  if  I  were  to  say  Bill  wrote  it  he  might 
insist  upon  Bill's  being  arrested,  and  he  might  find  it 
just  as  hard  to  prove  his  innocence  as  I  do." 

The  assizes  were  to  come  on  in  three  weeks.  Ned  was 
treated  with  more  consideration  than  was  generally  the 
case  with  prisoners  in  those  days,  when  the  jails  were 
terribly  mismanaged;  but  Mr.  Simmonds  had  written  to 
the  governor  of  the  prison  asking  that  every  indulgence 
that  could  be  granted  should  be  shown  to  Ned,  and  M*. 
Person  had  also,  before  the  lad  left  Marsden,  insisted  on 
his  accepting  a  sum  of  money  which  would  enable  him  to 
purchase  such  food  and  comforts  as  were  permitted  to  be 
bought  by  prisoners,  able  to  pay  for  them,  awaiting  their 
trial. 

Thus  Ned  obtained  the  boon  of  a  separate  cell,  he  was 
allowed  to  have  books  and  writing  materials,  and  to  have 
his  meals  in  from  outside  the  prison. 

The  di:ys,  however,  passed  but  slowly,  and  Ned  was 
heartily  glad  when  the  time  for  the  assizes  was  at  hand 
and  his  suspense  was  to  come  to  an  end.  His  case  came 
on  for  trial  on  the  second  day  of  the  sessions.  On  the 
previous  evening  he  received  a  v  isit  from  Mr.  Wakefield, 
who  told  him  that  Mr.  Person,  Dr.  Green  and  Charlie 
had  come  over  in  the  coach  with  him. 

"You  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  your  mother  will  not 
be  called,"  the  lawyer  said.  "The  prosecution,  I  sup- 
pose, thought  that  it  would  have  a  bad  effect  to  call  upon 
a  mother  to  give  evidence  against  her  son;  besides,  she 
could  prove  no  more  than  your  brother  will  be  able  to 
do.  If  they  had  called  her,  Green  would  have  given  her 
a  certificate  that  she  was  confined  to  her  bed  and  could 
not  possibly  attend.  However  I  am  glad  they  did  not 
call  her,  for  the  absence  of  a  witness  called  against  the 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  21 1 

prisoner,  but  supposed  to  be  favorable  to  him,  always 
counts  against  him." 

"And  you  have  no  clue  as  who  did  it,  Mr.  Wakefield?" 

"Not  a  shadow,"  the  lawyer  replied.  "We  hare  had 
a  man  down  from  town  ever  since  you  have  been  away, 
but  we  have  done  no  good.  He  went  up  to  Varley  and 
tried  to  get  into  the  confidence  of  the  croppers,  but  some- 
how they  suspected  him  to  be  a  spy  sent  down  to  inquire 
into  the  Luddite  bushi'ibs,  and  he  had  a  pretty  narrow 
escape  of  his  life.  He  was  terribly  knocked  about  before 
he  could  get  out  of  the  public-house,  and  they  chased 
him  all  the  way  down  into  Marsden.  Luckily  he  was  a 
pretty  good  runner,  and  had  the  advantage  of  having 
lighter  shoes  on  than  they  had,  or  they  would  have  killed 
him  to  a  certainty.  No,  my  lad,  we  can  prove  nothing; 
we  simply  take  the  ground  that  you  didn't  do  it;  that 
he  was  a  threatened  man  and  unpopular  with  his  hands; 
and  there  is  not  a  shadow  of  proof  against  you  except 
the  fact  that  he  had  ill-treated  you  just  before." 

"'And  that  I  was  known  to  bear  him  ill-will,"  Ned 
eaid  sadly. 

"Yes,  of  course  that's  unfortunate,"  the  lawyer  said 
uneasily.  "Of  course  they  will  make  a  point  of  that, 
but  that  proves  nothing.  Most  boys  of  your  age  do  ob- 
ject to  a  stepfather.  Of  course  we  shall  put  it  to  the 
jury  that  there  is  nothing  uncommon  about  that.  Oh! 
no,  I  do  not  think  they  have  a  strong  case;  and  Mr. 
Grant,  who  is  our  leader,  and  who  is  considered  the  best 
man  on  the  circuit,  is  convinced  we  shall  get  a  verdict." 

"But  what  do  people  think  at  Marsden,  Mr.  Wake- 
field?  Do  people  generally  think  I  am  guilty?" 

"Pooh!  pooh!"  Mr.  Wakefield  said  hastily.  "What 
does  it  matter  what  people  think?  Most  people  are  fools. 
The  question  we  have  to  concern  ourselves  with  is  what 
do  the  jury  think,  or  at  any  rate  with  what  they  thinkjs 


THROUGH  THE  FRAY. 

proved,  and  Mr.  Grant  says  he  does  not  believe  any  jury 
could  find  you  guilty  upon  the  evidence.  He  will  work 
them  up.  I  know  he  is  a  wonderful  fellow  for  working 
up." 

Mr.  Grant's  experience  of  juries  turned  out  to  be  well 
founded.  Ned,  as  he  stood  pale,  but  firm  and  composed 
in  the  dock,  felt  that  his  case  was  well-nigh  desperate 
when  he  heard  the  speech  for  the  prosecution.  His  long 
and  notorious  ill-will  against  the  deceased,  "one  of  the 
most  genial  and  popular  gentlemen  in  that  part  of  the 
great  county  of  Yorkshire,"  was  dwelt  upon.  Evidence 
would  bo  brought  to  show  that  even  on  the  occasion  of 
his  mother's  marriage  the  happiness  of  the  ceremonial 
was  marred  by  the  scowls  and  menacing  appearance  of 
this  most  unfortunate  and  ill-conditioned  lad;  how  some 
time  after  the  marriage  this  young  fellow  had  violently 
assaulted  his  stepfather,  and  had  used  words  in  the  hear- 
ing of  the  servants  which  cculd  only  be  interpreted  as  a 
threat  upon  his  life.  This  indeed,  was  not  the  first  time 
that  this  boy  had  been  placed  in  the  dock  as  a  prisoner. 
Upon  a  former  occasion  he  had  been  charged  with  as- 
saulting and  threatening  the  life  of  his  schoolmaster,  and 
although  upon  that  occasion  he  had  escaped  the  conse- 
quences of  his  conduct  by  what  must  now  be  considered 
as  the  ill-timed  leniency  of  the  magistrates,  yet  the  facts 
were  undoubted  and  undenied. 

Then  the  counsel  proceeded  to  narrate  the  circunr 
stances  of  the  evening  up  to  the  point  when  Mr.  Mul- 
ready  left  the  house. 

"Beyond  that  point,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  the 
counsel  said,  "nothing  certain  is  known.  The  rest  must 
be  mere  conjecture;  and  yet  it  is  not  hard  to  imagine  the 
facts.  The  prisoner  was  aware  that  the  deceased  had 
gone  to  the  mill,  which  is  situated  a  mile  and  a  half  from 
the  town.  You  will  be  told  the  words  which  the  pris- 


THROUGH  THE  FRAT.  213 

oner  used:  'It  will  be  my  turn  next  time,  and  when  it 
comes  I  will  kill  you,  you  brute.* 

"With  these  words  on  his  lips,  with  this  thought  in 
liis  heart,  he  started  for  the  mill.  What  plan  he  in- 
tended to  adopt,  what  form  of  vengeance  he  intended  to 
take,  it  matters  not,  but  assuredly  it  was  with  thoughts 
of  vengeance  in  his  heart  that  he  followed  that  dark  and 
lonely  road  to  the  mill.  Once  there  he  would  have  hung 
about  waiting  for  his  victim  to  issue  forth.  It  may  be 
that  he  had  picked  up  a  heavy  stone,  may  be  that  he  had 
an  open  knife  in  his  hand;  but  while  he  was  waiting, 
probably  his  foot  struck  against  a  coil  of  rope,  which,  as 
you  will  hear,,  had  been  carelessly  thrown  out  a  few  min- 
utes before. 

"Then  doubtless  the  idea  of  a  surer  method  of  venge- 
ance than  that  of  which  he  had  before  thought  came  into 
his  mind.  A  piece  of  the  rope  was  hastily  cut  off,  and 
with  this  the  prisoner  stole  quietly  off  until  ho  reached 
the  spot  where  two  gates  facing  each  other  on  opposite 
sides  of  the  lane  afforded  a  suitable  hold  for  the  rope. 
Whether  after  fastening  it  across  the  road  he  remained 
at  the  spot  to  watch  the  catastrophe  which  he  had  brought 
about,  or  whether  he  hurried  away  into  the  darkness 
sesure  of  his  vengeance  we  cannot  tell,  nor  does  it  mat- 
Is  t.  You  will  understand,  gentlemen,  that  we  are  not  in 
•3  position  to  prove  these  details  of  the  tragedy.  I  am 
telling  you  the  theory  of  the  prosecution  as  to  how  it 
?aappened.  Murders  are  not  generally  done  in  open  day 
with  plenty  of  trustworthy  witnesses  looking  on.  It  is 
seldom  that  the  act  of  slaying  is  witnessed  by  human  eye. 
The  evidence  must  therefore  to  some  extent  be  circum- 
stantial. The  prosecution  can  only  lay  before  juries  the 
antecedent  circumstances,  show  ill-will  and  animus,  and 
lead  the  jury  step  by  step  up  to  the  point  when  the  mur- 
derer and  the  victim  meet  in  some  spot  at  some  time 


214  THRO  UGH  TEE  Fit  A  Y. 

when  none  but  the  all-seeing  eye  of  God  is  upon  them. 
This  case  is,  as  you  see,  no  exception  to  the  general  rule. 

"I  have  shown  you  that  between  the  prisoner  and  the 
deceased  there  was  what  may  be  termed  a  long-standing 
feud,  which  came  to  a  climax  two  or  three  hours  before 
this  murder.  Up  to  that  fatal  evening  I  think  I  shall 
show  you  that  the  prisoner  was  wholly  in  fault,  and  that 
the  deceased  acted  with  grea:  good  temper  and  self- 
command  under  a  lorg  series  of  provocations;  but  upon 
this  evening  his  temper  appears  to  have  failed,  and  I  will 
admit  frankly  that  he  seems  to  have  committed  a  very 
outrageous  and  brutal  assanlt  upon  the  prisoner.  Still, 
gentlemen,  such  an  assault  is  no  justification  of  the  crime 
which  took  place.  Unhappily  it  supplies  the  cause,  but 
it  does  not  supply  an  excuse  for  the  crime. 

"Your  duty  in  the  case  will  be  simple.  You  will  have 
to  say  whether  or  not  the  murder  of  William  M  already  is 
accounted  for  upon  the  theory  which  I  have  laid  down 
to  you  and  on  no  other.  Should  you  entertain  no  doubt 
upon  the  subject  it  will  be  your  duty  to  bring  in  a  ver- 
dict of  guilty;  if  you  do  not  feel  absolutely  certain  you 
will  of  course  give  the  prisoner  the  benefit  of  the  doubt." 

The  evidence  called  added  nothing  to  what  was  known 
at  the  first  examination.  The  two  servants  testified  to 
the  fact  of  the  unpleasant  relations  which  had  from  the 
first  existed  between  the  deceased  and  the  prisoner,  and 
detailed  what  they  knew  of  the  quarrel.  Charlie's  evi- 
dence was  the  most  damaging,  as  he  had  to  state  the 
threat  which  Ned  had  uttered  before  he  went  out. 

The  counsel  for  the  defense  asked  but  few  questions  in 
cross-examination.  He  elicited  from  the  servants,  how- 
ever, the  fact  that  Mr.  Mulready  at  home  was  a  very 
different  person  from  Mr.  Mulready  as  known  by  people 
in  general.  They  acknowledged  that  he  was  by  no  means 
a  pleasant  master,  that  he  was  irritable  and  fault-finding. 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T,  315 

and  that  his  temper  was  trying  in  the  extreme.    He  only 
asked  one  or  two  questions  of  Charlie. 

"You  did  not  find  your  stepfather  a  very  pleasant  man 
to  deal  with,  did  you?" 

"Not  at  all  pleasant,"  Charlie  replied  heartily. 

"Always  snapping  ard  snarling  and  finding  fault, 
wasn't  he?" 

"Yes,  sir,  always." 

'•Now  about  this  threat  Ox  which  we  have  heard  so 
much  on  the  part  of  your  hrother,  did  it  impress  you 
much?  Were  you  frightened  at  it?  Did  you  think  that 
your  brother  intended  to  kill  your  stepfather?" 

"No,  sir,  I  am  sure  he  didn't;  he  just  said  it  in  a  pas- 
sion. He  had  been  knocked  about  until  he  could  hardly 
stand,  and  he  just  said  the  first  thing  that  came  into  his 
head,  like  fellows  do." 

"You  don't  think  that  he  went  out  with  any  deliberate 
idea  of  killing  your  stepfather?" 

"No,  sir;  I  am  sure  he  only  went  out  to  walk  about 
till  he  got  over  his  passion,  just  as  he  had  done  before." 

"It  was  his  way,  was  it,  when  anything  put  him  out 
very  much,  to  go  and  walk  about  till  he  got  cool  again?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

For  the  defense  Mr.  Simmonds  was  called,  and  pro- 
duced the  threatening  letters  which  Mr.  Mulready  had 
laid  before  him.  He  stated  that  that  gentleman  was 
much  alarmed,  and  had  asked  that  a  military  force  should 
be  called  into  the  town,  and  that  he  himself  and  his  col- 
league had  considered  the  danger  so  serious  that  they 
had  applied  for  and  obtained  military  protection. 

Luke  Marner  and  several  of  the  hands  at  the  mill  tes- 
tified to  the  extreme  unpopularity  of  their  employe? 
among  his  men,  and  said  that  they  should  never  have 
been  surprised  any  morning  at  hearing  that  ha  had  bee» 
killed. 


216  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

Dr.  Green  and  Mr.  Person  testified  very  strongly  in 
favor  of  Ned's  character,  This  was  all  the  evidence  pro- 
duced. Mr.  Grant  then  addressed  the  jury,  urging  that 
beyond  the  fact  of  this  unfortunate  quarrel,  in  which  the 
deceased  appeared  to  have  been  entirely  to  blame  and  to 
have  behaved  with  extreme  brutality,  there  was  nothing 
whatever  to  associate  the  prisoner  with  the  crime.  The 
young  gentleman  before  them,  as  they  had  heard  from 
the  testimony  of  gentlemen  of  the  highest  respectability, 
bore  an  excellent  character.  That  he  had  faults  in  tem- 
per he  admitted,  such  faults  being  the  result  of  the  lad 
having  been  brought  up  among  Indian  servants;  but  Dr. 
Green  and  Mr.  Porson  had  both  told  them  that  he  had 
made  the  greatest  efforts  to  master  his  temper,  and  that 
they  believed  that  no  ordinary  provocation  could  arouse 
him.  But  after  all  what  did  what  they  had  heard  amount 
to?  simply  this,  the  lad's  mother  had  been  married  a 
second  time  to  a  man  who. bore  the  outward  reputation 
of  being  a  pleasant,  jovial  man,  a  leading  character 
among  his  townsmen,  a  popular  fellow  in  the  circle  in 
which  he  moved. 

It  had  been  proved,  however,  by  the  evidence  of  those 
who  knew  him  best,  of  his  workpeople,  his  servants,  of 
this  poor  lad  whom  the  prosecution  had  placed  in  the 
box  as  a  witness  against  his  brother,  that  this  man's  life 
was  a  long  lie;  that,  smiling  and  pleasant  as  he  appeared, 
he  was  a  tyrant,  a  petty  despot  in  his  family,  a  hard  mas- 
ter  to  his  hands,  a  cruel  master  in  his  house.  What 
wonder  that  between  this  lad  and  such  a  stepfather  as 
tfciis  there  was  no  love  lost.  There  were  scores,  ay  and 
thousands  of  boys  in  England  who  similarly  hated  their 
stepfathers,  and  was  it  to  be  said  that,  if  any  of  the  men 
came  to  a  sudden  and  violent  death,  these  boys  were  to 
be  suspected  of  their  murder.  But  in  the  present  case, 
although  he  was  not  in  a,  position  to  lay  his  finger  upon 


THRO  UGH  THE  FEA  T.  217 

the  man  who  perpetrated  this  crime,  they  need  not  go 
far  to  look  for  him.  Had  they  not  heard  that  he  was 
hated  by  his  workpeople? 

Evidence  had  been  laid  before  them  to  show  that  he 
was  a  marked  man,  that  he  had  received  threatening 
letters  from  secret  associations  which  had,  as  was  notori- 
ous, kept  the  south  of  Yorkshire,  and  indeed  all  that 
part  of  the  country  which  was  the  seat  of  manufacture, 
in  a  state  of  alarm.  So  imminent  was  the  danger  consid- 
ered that  the  magistrates  had  requested  the  aid  of  an 
armed  force,  and  at  the  time  this  murder  was  committed 
there  were  soldiers  actually  stationed  in  the  mill,  besides 
a  strong  force  in  the  town  for  the  protection  of  this  man 
from  his  enemies. 

The  counsel  for  the  prosecution  had  given  them  his 
theory  as  to  the  actions  of  the  prisoner,  but  he  believed 
that  that  theory  was  altogether  wide  of  the  truth.  It 
was  known  that  an  accident  had  taken  place  to  the  ma- 
chinery, for  the  mill  was  standing  idle  for  the  day.  It 
would  be  probable  that  the  deceased  would  go  over  late 
in  the  evening  to  see  how  the  work  was  progressing,  as 
every  effort  was  being  made  to  get  the  machinery  to  run 
on  the  following  morning.  "What  so  probable,  then, 
that  the  enemies  of  the  deceased — and  you  know  that  he 
had  enemies,  who  had  sworn  to  take  his  life — should 
choose  this  opportunity  for  attacking  him  as  he  drove  to 
or  from  the  town.  That  an  enemy  was  prowling  round 
the  mill,  as  has  been  suggested  to  you,  I  admit  readily 
enough.  That  he  stumbled  upon  the  rope,  that  the  idea 
occurred  to  him  of  upsetting  the  gig  on  its  return,  that 
he  cut  off  a  portion  of  the  rope  and  fixed  it  between  the 
two  gateposts  across  the  road,  and  that  this  rope  caused 
the  death  of  "William  Mulready.  All  this  I  allow;  but  I 
submit  to  you  that  the  man  who  did  this  was  a  member 
of  the  secret  associaion  which  is  a  terror  to  the  land,  and 


818  THROUGH  THE  FRA 7. 

was  the  terror  of  William  Mulready,  and  there  is  no  proof 
whatever,  not  even  the  shadow  of  a  proof,  to  connect 
this  lad  with  the  crime. 

"I  am  not  speaking  "without  a  warrant  when  I  assert 
my  conviction  that  it  was  an  emissary  of  the  association 
known  as  the  Luddites  who  had  a  hand  in  this  matter, 
for  I  am  in  possession  of  a  document,  which  unfortu- 
nately I  am  not  in  a  position  to  place  before  you,  as  it  is 
not  legal  evidence,  which  professes  to  be  written  by  the 
man  who  perpetrated  this  deed,  and  who  appears,  al- 
though obedient  to  the  behests  of  this  secret  association 
of  which  he  is  a  member,  to  be  yet  a  man  not  devoid  of 
heart,  who  says  that  if  this  innocent  young  man  is  found 
guilty  of  this  crime  he  will  himself  come  forward  and 
confess  that  he  did  it. 

"Therefore,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  there  is  every  rea- 
son to  believe  that  the  slayer  of  William  Mulready  is 
indeed  within  these  walls,  but  assuredly  he  is  not  the 
most  unfortunate  and  ill-treated  _young  man  who  stands 
in  the  dock  awaiting  your  verdict  to  set  him  free." 

The  summing  up  was  brief.  The  judge  commenced 
by  telling  the  jury  that  they  must  dismiss  altogether 
from  their  minds  the  document  of  which  the  counsel  for 
the  defense  had  spoken,  and  to  which,  as  it  had  not  been 
put  into  court,  and  indeed  could  not  be  put  into  court, 
it  was  highly  irregular  and  improper  for  him  to  have 
alluded.  They  must,  he  said,  dismiss  it  altogether  from 
their  minds.  Their  duty  was  simple,  they  were  to  con- 
sider  the  evidence  before  them.  They  had  heard  of  the 
quarrel  which  had  taken  place  between  the  deceased  and 
the  prisoner.  They  had  heard  the  threat  used  by  the 
prisoner  that  he  would  kill  the  deceased  if  he  had  an  op- 
portunity, and  they  had  to  decide  whether  he  had,  in 
accordance  with  the  theory  of  the  prosecution,  carried 
that  threat  into  effect;  or  whether  on  the  other  hand,  at 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  Y.  219 

the  defense  suggested,  the  deceased  had  fallen  a  victim 
to  the  agent  of  the  association  which  had  threatened  his 
life.  He  was  bound  to  tell  them  thut  if  they  entertained 
any  doubt  as  to  the  guilt  of  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  they 
were  bound  to  give  him  the  ben  ut  of  the  doubt. 

The  jury  consulted  together  for  a  short  time,  and  then 
expressed  their  desire  to  retire  to  consider  their  verdict. 
They  were  absent  about  half  an  hour,  and  on  their  return 
the  foreman  said  in  reply  to  the  question  of  the  judge 
that  they  found  the  prisoner  "Not  Guilty." 

A  perfect  silence  reigned  in  the  court  when  the  jury 
entered  the  box,  and  something  like  a  sigh  of  relief  fol- 
lowed their  verdict.  It  was  expected,  and  indeed  there 
was  some  surprise  when  the  jury  retired,  for  the  general 
opinion  was  that  whether  guilty  or  innocent  the  prosecu- 
tion had  failed  to  bring  home  unmistakably  the  crime  to 
the  prisoner.  That  he  might  have  committed  it  was 
certain,  that  he  had  committed  it  was  probable,  but  it 
was  assuredly  not  proved  that  he  and  none  other  had 
been  the  perpetrator  of  the  crime. 

Of  all  the  persons  in  the  court  the  accused  had  ap- 
peared the  least  anxious  as  to  the  result.  He  received 
almost  with  indifference  the  assurances  which  Mr.  Waks- 
field,  who  was  sitting  at  the  solicitor's  table  below  him, 
rose  to  give  him,  that  the  jury  could  not  find  a  verdict 
against  him,  and  the  expression  of  his  face  was  unchanged 
when  the  foreman  announced  the  verdict. 

He  was  at  once  released  from  the  dock.  His  solicitor, 
Dr.  Green,  and  Mr.  Porson  warmly  shook  his  hand,  and 
Charlie  threw  his  arms  round  his  neck  and  cried  in  hie 
joy  and  excitement. 

"It  is  all  right,  I  suppose,"  Ned  said  as,  surrounded 
by  his  friends,  he  left  the  court,  "but  I  would  just  a£ 
lief  the  verdict  had  gone  the  other  way." 

"Oh!  Ned,  how  can  you  say  so?"  Charlie  exclaimed. 


220  THRO  UQH  THE  FBA  F. 

"Well,  no,  Charlie,"  Ned  corrected  himself.  "I  am 
glad  for  your  sake  and  Lucy's  that  I  am  acquitted;  it 
would  have  been  awful  for  you  if  I  had  been  hung — it  is 
only  for  myself  that  1  don't  care.  The  verdict  only 
means  that  they  have  not  been  able  to  prove  me  guilty, 
and  I  have  got  to  go  on  living  all  my  life  knowing  that  I 
am  suspected  of  being  a  murderer.  It  is  not  a  nice  sort 
of  thing,  you  know,"  and  he  laughed  drearily. 

"Come,  come,  Wed,"  Mr.  Person  said  cheerily,  "you 
mustn't  take  too  gloomy  a  view  of  it.  It  is  natural 
enough  that  you  should  do  so  now,  for  you  have  gone 
through  a  great  deal,  and  you  are  overwrought  and  worn 
out;  but  this  will  pass  off,  and  you  will  find  things  are 
not  as  bad  as  you  think.  It  is  true  that  there  may  be 
some,  not  many,  I  hope,  who  will  be  of  opinion  that  tho 
verdict  was  like  the  Scotch  verdict  'Not  Proven,'  rather 
than  'Not  Guilty;'  but  I  am  sure  the  great  majority  will 
believe  you  innocent.  You  have  got  the  doctor  here  on 
your  side,  and  he  is  a  host  in  himself.  Mr.  Simmonda 
told  me  when  the  jury  were  out  of  the  court  that  he  was 
convinced  you  were  innocent,  and  his  opinion  will  go  a 
long  way  in  Marsden,  and  you  must  hope  and  trust  that 
the  time  will  come  when  your  innocence  will  be  not  only 
believed  in,  but  proved  to  the  satisfaction  of  all  by  the 
discovery  of  the  actual  murderer." 

"Ah!"  Ned  said,  "if  we  ever  find  that  out  it  will  bo 
all  right;  but  unless  we  can  do  so  I  shall  have  this  dread- 
ful  thing  hanging  over  me  all  my  life." 

They  had  scarcely  reached  the  hotel  where  Mr.  Person, 
the  doctor,  and  Charlie  were  stopping,  when  Mr.  Sim- 
monds  arrived. 

"I  have  come  to  congratulate  you,  my  boy,"  he  said, 
shaking  hands  with  Ned.  "I  can  see  that  at  present  the 
verdict  does  not  give  so  much  satisfaction  to  you  as  to 
your  friends,  but  that  is  natural  enough.  You  have  been 


.  THROUGH  THE  FRA  Y.  221 

Unjustly  accused  and  have  had  a  very  hard  time  of  ifc, 
and  you  are  naturally  not  disposed  to  look  at  matters  in 
a  cheerful  light;  but  this  gives  us  time,  my  boy,  and 
time  is  everything.  It  is  hard  for  you  that  your  inno- 
cence has  not  been  fully  demonstrated,  but  you  have 
your  life  before  you,  and  we  must  hope  that  some  day 
you  will  be  triumphantly  vindicated." 

"That  is  what  I  shall  live  for  in  future,'*  Ned  said. 
"Of  course  now,  Mr.  Simmonds,  there  is  an  end  of  all 
idea  of  my  going  into  the  army.  A  man  suspected  of  a 
murder,  even  if  they  have  failed  to  bring  it  home  to 
him,  cannot  ask  for  a  commission  in  the  army.  I  know 
there's  an  end  to  all  that." 

"No,"  Mr.  Simmonds  agreed  hesitatingly,  "I  fear  that 
for  the  present  that  plan  had  better  remain  in  abeyance; 
we  can  take  it  up  again  later  on  when  this  matter  is  put 
straight." 

"That  may  be  never,"  Ned  said  decidedly,  "so  we 
aeed  say  no  more  about  it. " 

"And  now,  my  boy,"  Mr.  Porson  said,  "try  and  eat 
some  lunch.  I  have  just  ordered  a  post-chaise  to  be 
round  at  the  door  in  half  an  hour.  The  sooner  we  start 
the  better.  The  fresh  air  and  the  change  will  do  you 
good,  and  we  shall  have  plenty  of  time  to  talk  on  the 


THROUGH 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

1UKE  MARKER'S  SACRIFICE. 

NOT  until  they  had  left  York  behind  them  did  Ned 
ask  after  his  mother.  He  knew  that  if  there  had  been 
anything  pleasant  to  tell  about  her  he  would  have  heard 
it  at  once,  and  the  silence  of  his  friends  warned  him  that 
the  subject  was  not  an  agreeable  one. 

"How  is  my  mother?"  he  asked  at  last  abruptly. 

"Well,  Ned,"  Dr.  Green  replied,  "I  have  been  expect- 
ing your  question,  and  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  have 
nothing  agreeable  to  tell  you." 

"That  I  was  sure  of,"  Ned  said  with  a  hard  laugh. 
"As  I  have  received  no  message  from  her  from  the  day 
I  was  arrested  I  guessed  pretty  well  that  whatever  doubt 
other  people  might  feel,  my  mother  was  positive  that  I 
had  murdered  her  husband." 

"The  fact  is,  Ned,"  Dr.  Green  said  cautiously,  "your 
mother  is  not  at  present  quite  accountable  for  her  opinions. 
The  shock  which  she  has  undergone  has,  I  think,  un- 
hinged her  mind.  Worthless  as  I  believe  him  to  have 
been,  this  man  had  entirely  gained  her  affections.  She 
has  not  risen  from  her  bed  since  he  died. 

"Sometimes  she  is  absolutely  silent  for  hours,  at  others 
she  talks  incessantly;  and  painful  as  it  is  to  tell  you  so, 
her  first  impression  that  you  were  responsible  for  his 
death  is  the  one  which  still  remains  fixed  on  her  mind. 
She  is  wholly  incapable  of  reason  or  of  argument.  At 
times  she  appears  sane  and  sensible  enough  and  talks  of 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  223 

other  matters  coherently;  but  the  moment  she  touches 
on  this  topic  she  becomes  excited  and  vehement.  It  has 
been  a  great  comfort  to  me,  and  I  am  sure  it  will  be  to 
you,  that  your  old  servant  Abijah  has  returned  and  taken 
up  the  position  of  housekeeper. 

"As  soon  as  your  mother's  first  excitement  passed  away 
1  asked  her  if  she  would  i.ke  this,  and  she  eagerly  as- 
sented. The  woman  was  in  the  town,  having  come  over 
on  the  morning  after  you  gave  yourself  up,  and  to  my 
great  relief  she  at  once  consented  to  take  up  her  former 
position.  This  is  a  great  thing  for  your  sister,  who  is, 
of  course,  entirely  in  her  charge,  as  your  mother  is  not 
in  a  condition  to  attend  to  anything.  I  was  afraid  at 
first  that  she  would  not  remain,  so  indignant  was  she  at 
your  mother's  believing  your  guilt;  but  './hen  I  assured 
her  that  the  poor  lady  was  not  responsible  for  what  she 
said,  and  that  her  mind  was  in  fact  unhinged  altogether 
by  the  calamity,  she  overcame  her  feelings;  but  it  is 
comic  to  see  her  struggling  between  her  indignation  at 
your  mother's  irresponsible  talk  and  her  consciousness 
that  it  is  necessary  to  abstain  from  exciting  her  by  contra- 
diction." 

Dr.  Green  had  spoken  as  lightly  as  he  could,  but  he 
knew  how  painful  it  must  be  to  Ned  to  hear  of  his  moth- 
er's conviction  of  his  guilt,  and  how  much  it  would  add 
to  the  trials  of  his  position. 

Ned  himself  had  listened  in  silence.  He  sighed  heavily 
when  the  doctor  had  finished. 

"Abijah  will  be  a  great  comfort,"  he  said  quietly,  "a 
wonderful  comfort;  but  as  to  my  poor  mother,  it  will  of 
course  be  a  trial.  Still,  nc  wonder  that,  when  she  heard 
me  say  those  words  when  I  went  out,  she  thinks  that  I 
did  it.  However,  I  suppose  that  it  is  part  of  my  punish- 
ment." 

"Have  you  thought  anything  of  your  future  plans, 


224  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  7. 

Ned?"  Mr.  Person  asked  after  they  had  driven  in  silence 
for  some  distance. 

"Yes,  I  have  been  thinking  a  good  deal,"  Ned  replied, 
"all  the  time  I  was  shut  up  and  had  nothing  else  to  do. 
I  did  not  believe  that  they  would  find  me  guilty,  and  of 
course  I  had  to  settle  what  I  should  do  afterward.  If  it 
was  only  myself  I  think  I  should  go  away  and  take  an- 
other name;  but  in  that  case  there  would  be  no  chance 
of  my  ever  clearing  myself,  and  for  father's  sake  and  for 
the  sake  of  Charlie  and  Lucy  I  must  not  throw  away  a 
chance  of  that.  It  would  be  awfully  against  them  all 
tiheir  lives  if  people  could  say  of  them  that  their  brother 
was  the  fellow  who  murdered  their  stepfather.  Perhaps 
they  will  always  say  so  now;  still  it  is  evidently  my  duty 
to  stay,  if  it  were  only  on  the  chance  of  clearing  up  the 
mystery. 

"In  the  next  place  I  feel  that  I  ought  to  stay  for  the 
sake  of  money  matters.  I  don't  think,  in  the  present 
state  of  things,  with  the  Luddites  burning  mills  and 
threatening  masters,  any  one  would  give  anything  like 
its  real  value  for  the  mill  now.  1  know  that  it  did  not 
pay  with  the  old  machinery,  and  it  is  not  every  one  who 
•would  care  to  run  the  risk  of  working  with  the  new.  By 
the  terms  of  the  settlement  that  was  made  before  my 
mother  married  again  the  mill  is  now  hers,  and  she  and 
Charlie  and  Lucy  have  nothing  else  to  depend  upon.  A :; 
she  is  not  capable  of  transacting  business  it  falls  upon 
me  to  take  her  place,  and  I  intend  to  try,  for  a  time  at 
any  rate,  to  run  the  mill  myself.  Of  course  I  kno-.v 
nothing  about  it,  but  as  the  hands  all  know  their  work 
the  foreman  will  be  able  to  carry  on  the  actual  business 
of  the  mill  till  I  master  the  details. 

"As  to  the  office  business,  the  clerk  will  know  all 
about  it.  There  was  a  man  who  used  to  travel  about  to 
buy  wool.  I  know  my  mother's  husband  had  every  con- 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

fidence  in  him,  and  he  could  go  on  just  as  before.  As  to 
the  sales,  the  books  will  tell  the  names  of  the  firms  who 
dealt  with  us,  and  I  suppose  the  business  with  them  will 
go  on  as  before.  At  any  rate  I  can  but  try  for  a  time. 
Of  course  I  hare  quite  made  up  my  mind  that  I  shall 
have  no  personal  interest  whatever  in  the  business.  They 
may  think  that  I  murdered  Y. already,  but  they  shall  not 
say  that  I  have  profited  by  his  death.  I  should  suppose 
that  my  mother  can  pay  me  some  very  small  salary,  just 
sufficient  to  buy  my  clothes.  So  I  shall  go  on  till  Oharlie 
gets  to  an  age  when  he  can  manage  the  business  as  its 
master;  then  if  no  clue  has  been  obtained  as  to  the  mur- 
der I  shall  be  able  to  give  it  up  and  go  abroad,  leaving 
him  with,  I  hope,  a  good  business  for  himself  and  Lucy." 

"I  think  that  is  as  good  a  plan  as  any,"  Mr.  Porson 
said;  "but,  however,  there  is  no  occasion  to  come  to  any 
sudden  determination  at  present.  I  myself  should  ad- 
vise a  change  of  scene  and  thought  before  you  decide 
anything  finally.  I  have  a  brother  living  in  London  and 
he  would,  I  am  sure,  very  gladly  take  you  in  for  a  fort- 
night and  show  you  the  sights  of  London." 

"Thank  you,  sir,  you  are  very  kind,"  Ned  said  quietly; 
"but  I  have  got  to  face  it  out  at  Marsden,  and  I  would 
rather  begin  at  once." 

Mr.  Porson  saw  by  the  set,  steady  look  upon  Ned's  face 
that  he  had  thoroughly  made  up  his  mind  as  to  the  part 
he  had  to  play,  and  that  any  further  argument  would  be 
of  no  avail.  It  was  not  until  the  postchaise  was  ap- 
proaching Marsden  that  any  further  allusion  was  made 
to  Ned's  mother.  Then  the  doctor,  after  consulting  Mr. 
Porson  by  various  upliftings  of  the  eyebrows,  returned 
to  the  subject. 

"Ned,  my  boy,  we  were  speaking  some  little  time  ago 
of  your  mother.  I  think  it  is  best  that  I  should  tell  you 
frankly  that  I  do  not  consider  her  any  longer  responsible 


226  THBO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

for  her  actions.  I  tell  you  this  in  order  that  you  may 
not  be  wounded  by  your  reception. 

"Since  that  fatal  day  she  has  not  left  her  bed.  fcihe 
declares  that  she  has  lost  all  power  in  her  limbs.  Of 
course  that  is  nonsense,  but  the  result  is  the  same.  She 
keeps  her  bed,  and,  as  far  as  I  ?an  see,  is  likely  to  keep 
it.  This  is  perhaps  the  less  to  be  regretted,  as  you  will 
thereby  avoid  being  thrown  ir.to  contact  with  her;  for  I 
tell  you  plainly  such  contact,  in  her  present  state  of 
mind,  could  only  be  unpleasant  to  you.  Were  you  to 
meet,  it  would  probably  at  the  least  bring  on  a  frightful 
attack  of  hysterics,  which  in  her  present  state  might  be  a 
serious  matter.  Therefore,  my  boy,  you  must  make  up 
your  mind  not  to  see  her  for  awhile.  I  have  talked  the 
matter  over  with  your  old  nurse,  who  will  remain  with 
your  mother  as  housekeeper,  with  a  girl  under  her.  ^ou 
will,  of  course,  take  your  place  as  master  of  the  house, 
with  your  brother  and  sister  with  you,  until  your  mother 
is  in  a  position  to  manage — if  ever  she  should  be.  But  I 
trust  at  any  rate  that  she  will  ere  long  so  far  recover  as 
to  be  able  to  receive  you  as  the  good  son  you  have  ever 
been  to  her." 

"Thank  you,"  Ned  said  quietly.  "I  understand, 
ioctor." 

Ned  did  understand  that  his  mother  was  convinced  of 
flis  guilt  and  refused  to  see  him;  it  was  what  he  ex- 
pected, and  yet  it  was  a  heavy  trial.  Very  cold  and  hard 
he  looked  as  the  postchaise  drove  through  the  streets  of 
Marsden.  People  glanced  at  it  curiously,  and  as  they 
saw  Ned  sitting  by  the  side  of  the  men  who  were  known 
as  his  champions  they  hurried  away  to  spread  the  news 
that  young  Sankey  had  been  acquitted. 

The  hard  look  died  out  of  Ned's  face  as  the  door 
opened,  and  Lucy  sprang  out  and  threw  her  arms  round 
fiis  neck  and  cried  with  delight  at  seeing  him;  and  Abi- 


THRO  UGH  THE  FIU  T. 

jah,  crying  too,  greeted  him  inside  with  a  motherly  wel- 
come. A  feeling  of  relief  came  across  his  mind  as  hef 
entered  the  sitting-room.  Dr.  Green,  who  was  one  of 
the  trustees  in  the  marriage  settlement,  had,  in  the  ina- 
bility of  Mrs.  Mulready  to  give  any  orders,  taken  upon 
himself  to  dispose  of  much  of  the  furniture,  and  to  re- 
place it  with  some  of  an  entirely  different  fashion  and 
appearance.  The  parlor  was  snug  and  cosy;  a  bright 
£  re  blazed  on  the  hearth;  a  comfortable  armchair  stood 
beside  it;  the  room  looked  warm  and  homely.  Ned?3 
two  friends  had  followed  him  in,  and  tears  stood  in  both 
their  eyes. 

"Welcome  back,  dear  boy!"  Mr.  Person  said,  grasping 
his  hand.  "God  grant  that  better  times  are  in  store  for 
you,  and  that  you  may  outlive  this  trial  which  has  at 
present  darkened  your  life.  Now  we  will  leave  you  to 
your  brother  and  sister.  I  am  sure  you  will  be  glad  to 
be  alone  with  them." 

And  so  Ned  took  to  the  life  he  had  marked  out  for 
himself.  In  two  months  he  seemed  to  have  aged  years. 
The  careless  look  of  boyhood  had  altogether  disappeared 
from  his  face.  Except  from  his  two  friends  he  rejected 
all  sympathy.  "When  he  walked  through  the  streets  of 
Marsden  it  was  with  a  cold,  stony  face,  as  if  he  were 
wholly  unaware  of  the  existence  of  passers-by.  The 
thought  that  as  he  went  along  men  drew  aside  to  let  him 
pass  and  whispered  after  he  had  gone,  "That  is  the  fel- 
low who  murdered  his  stepfather,  but  escaped  because 
they  could  not  bring  it  home  to  him,"  was  ever  in  his 
mind.  His  friends  in  vain  argued  with  him  against  his 
thus  shutting  himself  off  from  the  world.  They  assured 
him  that  there  were  very  many  who,  like  themselves, 
were  perfectly  convinced  of  his  innocence,  and  who  would 
rally  round  him  and  support  him  if  he  would  give  them 
the  least  encouragement,  but  Ned  shook  his  head. 


228  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  7. 

"I  dare  say  what  you  say  is  true,"  he  would  reply; 
"but  I  could  not  do  it — I  must  go  on  alone.  It  is  as 
much  as  I  can  bear  now." 

And  his  friends  saw  that  it  was  useless  to  urge  him 
further. 

,  On  tho  day  after  his  return  to  Marsden  Luke  Marner 
and  Bill  Swinton  came  back  on  the  coach  from  York, 
and  after  it  was  dark  Ned  walked  up  to  Varley  and 
knocked  at  Bill's  door. 

On  hearing  who  it  was  Bill  threw  on  his  cap  and  came 
out  to  him.  For  a  minute  the  lads  stood  with  their 
hands  clasped  firmly  in  each  other's  without  a  word  being 
spoken. 

"Thank  God,  Maister  Ned/'  Bill  said  at  last,  "we  ha' 
got  thee  again!" 

"Thank  God  too!"  Ned  said;  "though  I  think  I  would 
rather  that  it  had  gone  the  other  way." 

They  walked  along  for  some  time  without  speaking 
again,  and  then  Ned  said  suddenly: 

"Now,  Bill,  who  is  the  real  murderer?" 

Bill  stopped  his  walk  in  astonishment. 

"The  real  murderer!"  he  repeated;  "how  ever  should 
oi  know,  Maister  Ned?" 

"I  know  that  you  know,  Bill.  It  was  you  who  wrote 
that  letter  to  Mr.  Wakelield  saying  that  the  man  who 
did  it  would  be  at  the  trial,  and  that  if  I  were  found 
guilty  he  would  give  himself  up.  It's  no  use  your  deny- 
ing it,  for  I  knew  your  handwriting  at  once." 

Bill  was  silent  for  some  time.  It  had  never  occurred 
to  him  that  this  letter  would  be  brought  home  to  him. 

"Come,  Bill,  you  must  tell  me."  Ned  said.  "Do  not 
be  afraid.  I  promise  you  that  I  will  not  use  it  against 
him.  Mind,  if  I  can  bring  it  home  to  him  in  any  other 
way  I  shall  do  so;  but  I  promise  you  that  no  word  shall 
ever  pass  my  lips  about  the  letter.  I  want  to  know  who 


THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  Y.  229 

is  the  man  of  whose  crime  the  world  believes  me  guilty. 
The  secret  shall,  as  far  as  he  is  concerned,  be  just  as 
much  a  secret  as  it  was  before." 

"But  oi  dunno  who  is  the  man,  Maister  Ned.  If  oi 
did  oi  would  ha'  gone  into  the  court  and  said  so,  even 
though  oi  had  been  sure  they  would  ha'  killed  me  for 
peaching  when  oi  came  back.  Oi  dunno  no  more  than  a 
child." 

"Then  you  only  wrote  that  letter  to  throw  them  on  to 
a  false  scent,  Bill?  Who  put  you  up  to  that,  for  I  am 
sure  it  would  never  have  occurred  to  you?" 

"No,"  Bill  said  slowly,  "oi  should  never  ha'  thought 
of  it  myself;  Luke  told  oi  what  to  wroit,  and  I  wroited 
it." 

"Oh,  it  was  Luke!  was  it?"  Ned  said  sharply.  "Then 
the  man  who  did  it  must  have  told  him." 

"Oi  didn't  mean  to  let  out  as  it  waar  Luke,"  Bill  said 
in  confusion;  "and  oi  promised  him  solemn  to  say  nowt 
about  it." 

"Well,"  Ned  said,  turning  sharp  round  and  starting 
on  his  way  back  to  the  village,  "I  must  see  Luke  himself.' 

Bill  in  great  perplexity  followed  Ned,  muttering:  "Oh, 
Lor'!  what  ull  Luke  say  to  oi?  What  a  fellow  oi  be  to 
talk,  to  be  sure!" 

Nothing  further  was  said  until  they  reached  Luke's 
cottage.  Ned  knocked  and  entered  at  once,  followed 
sheepishly  by  Bill. 

"Maister  Ned,  oi  be  main  glad  to  see  thee,"  Luke  said 
as  he  rose  from  his  place  by  the  fire;  while  Polly  with  a 
little  cry,  "Welcome!"  dropped  her  work. 

"Thanks,  Luke — thanks  for  coming  over  to  York  to 
give  evidence.  How  are  you,  Polly?  There!  don't  cry 
— I  ain't  worth  crying  over.  At  any  rate,  it  is  a  satis- 
faction to  be  with  three  people  who  don't  regard  me  as  a 
murderer.  Now,  Folly,  I  want  you  to  go  into  the  other 


230  THRO  UQR  THE  PR  A  7. 

room,  for  I  have  a  question  which  I  must  ask  Luke,  anfl 
I  don't  want  even  you  to  hear  the  answer." 

Polly  gathered  her  work  together  and  went  out.  Then 
Ned  went  over  to  Luke,  who  was  looking  at  him  with 
surprise,  and  laid  his  hand  on  "ais  shoulder. 

"Luke,"  he  said,  "I  want  you  to  tell  me  exactly  how 
it  was  that  you  came  to  tell  Bill  to  write  that  letter  to 
Mr.  Wakefield?" 

Luke  started  and  then  looked  savagely  ovei  at  Bill, 
who  stood  twirling  his  cap  in  his  hand. 

"Oi  couldn't  help  it,  Luke,"  he  said  humbly.  "Oi 
didn't  mean  vor  to  say  it,  but  he  got  it  out  of  me  some- 
how. He  knawed  ray  fist  on  the  paper,  and,  says  he, 
sudden  loike,  'Who  war  the  man  as  murdered  Foxey?* 
What  was  oi  vor  to  say?  He  says  at  once  as  he  knowed 
the  idea  of  writing  that  letter  would  never  ha'  coom  into 
my  head;  and  so  the  long  and  short  of  it  be,  as  your 
name  slipped  owt  somehow,  and  there  you  be." 

"Now,  Luke,"  Ned  said  soothingly,  "I  want  to  know 
whether  there  was  a  man  who  was  ready  to  take  my  place 
in  the  dock  had  I  been  found  guilty,  and  if  so,  who  he 
was.  I  shall  keep  the  name  as  a  secret.  I  give  you  my 
word  of  honor.  After  he  had  promised  to  come  forward 
an<?  save  my  life  that  is  the  least  I  can  do,  though,  as  I 
told  Bill,  if  I  could  bring  it  home  to  him  in  any  other 
way  I  should  feel  myself  justified  in  doing  so.  It  may 
be  that  he  would  be  willing  to  go  across  the  seas,  and 
when  he  is  safe  there  to  write  home  saying  that  he  did 
it." 

"Yes,  oi  was  afraid  that  soom  sich  thawt  might  be  in 
your  moind,  Maister  Ned,  but  it  can't  be  done  that  way. 
But  oi  doan't  know,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  "perhaps  it 
moight,  arter  all.  Perhaps  the  chap  as  was  a-coomin' 
forward  moight  take  it  into  his  head  to  go  to  Ameriky 
Oi  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  did.  In  fact,  now  oi  thinks 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  231 

on't,  oi  am  pretty  sure  as  he  will.  Yes.  Oi  can  say  for 
sartin  as  that's  what  he  intends.  A  loife  vor  a  loif« 
you  know,  Maister  Ned,  that  be  only  fair,  bean't  it?'* 

"And  you  think  he  will  really  go?"  Ned  asked  eagerly. 

"Ay,  he  will  go,"  Luke  said  firmly,  "it's  as  good  as 
done;  but,"  he  added  slowly,  "I  dunno  as  he's  got  money 
vor  to  pay  his  passage  wi'.  There's  some  kids  as  have 
to  go  wi'  him.  He  would  want  n'o  more  nor  just  the 
fare.  But  oi  doan't  see  how  he  can  go  till  he  has  laid 
that  by,  and  in  these  hard  toimes  it  ull  take  him  some 
time  to  do  that." 

"I  will  provide  the  money,"  Ned  said  eagerly.  "Abi- 
jah  would  lend  me  some  of  her  savings,  and  I  can  pay 
her  back  some  day." 

"Very  well,  Maister  Ned.  Oi  expect  as  how  he  will 
take  it  as  a  loan.  Moind,  he  will  pay  it  back  if  he  lives, 
honest.  Oi  doan't  think  as  how  he  hain't  honest,  that 
chap,  though  he  did  kill  Foxey.  Very  well,"  Luke  went 
on  slowly,  "then  the  matter  be  as  good  as  settled.  Oi 
will  send  Bill  down  to-morrow,  and  he  will  see  if  thou 
canst  let  un  have  the  money.  A  loife  vor  a  loife,  that's 
what  oi  says,  Maister  Ned.  That  be  roight,  hain't  it?" 

"That's  right  enough,  Luke,"  Ned  replied,  "though  I 
don't  quite  see  what  that  has  to  do  with  it,  except  that 
the  man  who  has  taken  this  life  should  give  his  life  to 
make  amends.  ' 

"Yes,  that  be  it,  in  course,"  Luke  replied.  "Yes; 
just  as  you  says,  he  ought  vor  to  give  his  loife  to  make 
amends." 

That  night  Ned  arranged  with  Abijah,  who  was  de- 
lighted to  hand  over  her  savings  for  the  furtherance  of 
any  plan  that  would  tend  to  clear  Ned  from  the  suspicion 
which  hung  over  him.  Bill  came  down  next  morning, 
and  was  told  that  a  hundred  pounds  would  be  forthcom- 
ing in  two  days. 


232  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

Upon  the  following  evening  the  servant  came  in  and 
told  Ned  that  a  young  woman  wished  to  speak  to  him. 
He  went  down  into  the  study,  and,  to  his  surpirse,  Mary 
Powlett  was  shown  in.  Her  eyes  were  swollen  with 
crying. 

"Master  Ned,"  she  said,  "I  have  come  to  say  good-by." 
"Good-by,  Polly!  Why,  where  are  you  going?" 
"We  are  all  going  away,  sir,  to-morrow  across  the  seas, 
to  Ameriky  I  believe.  It's  all  come  so  sudden  it  seems 
like  a  dream.  Feyther  never  spoke  of  such  a  thing  afore, 
and  now  all  at  once  we  have  got  to  start.  I  have  run  all 
the  way  down  from  Varley  to  say  good-by.  Feyther  told 
me  that  I  wasn't  on  no  account  to  come  down  to  you. 
Wot  on  no  account,  he  said.  But  how  could  I  go  away 
and  know  that  you  had  thought  us  so  strange  and  un- 
grateful as  to  go  away  without  saying  good-by  after  your 
dear  feyther  giving  his  life  for  little  Jenny.  I  couldn't 
do  it,  sir.  So  when  he  started  off  to  spend  the  evening 
for  the  last  time  at  the  'Cow'  I  put  on  my  bonnet  and 
ran  down  here.  I  don't  care  if  he  beats  me — not  that 
he  ever  did  beat  me,  but  he  might  now — for  he  was  ter- 
rible stern  in  telling  me  as  I  wasn't  to  come  and  see  you." 
Ned  heard  her  without  an  interruption.  The  truth 
flashed  across  his  mind.  It  was  Luke  Marner  himself 
who  was  going  to  America,  and  was  going  to  write  home 
to  clear  him.  Yet  surely  Luke  could  never  have  done  it 
—Luke,  so  different  from  the  majority  of  the  croppers — 
Luke,  who  had  steadily  refused  to  have  anything  to  say 
to  General  Lud  and  his  schemes  against  the  masters. 
Mary's  last  words  gave  him  a  clue  to  the  mystery — "Your 
dear  feyther  gave  his  life  for  little  Jenny."  He  coupled 
it  with  Luke's  enigmatical  words,  "A  loife  for  a  loife." 
For  a  minute  or  two  he  sat  absolutely  silent.  Mary 
was  hurt  at  the  seeming  indifference  with  which  he  re- 
ceived the  news.  She  drew  herself  up  a  little,  and  said, 
in  an  altered  voice: 


THRO  UGH  THE  FHA  T.  233 

"I  will  say  good-by,  sir.  I  hope  you  won't  think  I  was 
taking  a  liberty  in  thinking  you  would  be  sorry  if  we 
were  all  to  go  without  your  knowing  it." 

Ned  roused  himself  at  her  words. 

"It  is  not  that,  Polly.  It  is  far  from  being  that.  But 
I  want  to  ask  you  a  question.  You  remember  the  night 
of  Mr.  Mulready's  murder?  Do  you  remember  whether 
your  father  was  at  home  all  that  evening?" 

Polly  opened  her  eyes  in  surprise  at  a  question  which 
seemed  to  her  so  irrelevant  to  the  matter  in  hand. 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  replied,  still  coldly.  "I  remember 
that  night.  We  are  not  likely  any  of  us  to  forget  it. 
Feyther  had  not  gone  to  the  'Cow.'  He  sat  smoking  at 
home.  Bill  had  dropped  in,  and  thsy  sat  talking  of  the 
doings  of  the  Luddites  till  it  was  later  than  usual.  Fey- 
ther was  sorry  afterward,  because  he  said  if  he  had  been 
down  at  the  *Cow'  he  might  have  noticed  by  the  talk  if 
any  one  had  an  idea  that  anything  was  going  to  take 
place." 

"Then  he  didn't  go  out  at  all  that  night,  Polly?" 

"No,  sir,  not  at  all  that  night;  and  now,  sir,  I  will  say 
good-by." 

"No,  Polly,  you  won't,  for  I  shall  go  back  with  you, 
and  I  don't  think  that  you  will  go  to  America." 

"I  don't  understand,"  the  girl  faltered. 

"No,  Polly,  I  don't  suppose  you  do;  and  I  have  not 
understood  till  now.  You  will  see  when  you  get  back." 

"If  you  please,"  Mary  said  hesitatingly,  "I  would 
rather  that  you  would  not  be  there  when  feyther  comes 
back.  Of  course  I  shall  tell  him  that  I  have  been  down 
to  see  you,  and  I  know  he  will  be  very  angry." 

"I  think  I  shall  be  able  to  put  that  straight.  I  can't 
let  your  father  go.  God  knows  I  have  few  enough  true 
friends,  and  I  cannot  spare  him  and  you;  and  as  for  Bill 
Swinton,  he  would  break  his  heart  if  you  went.',' 


234  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

"Bill's  only  a  boy;  he  will  get  over  it,"  Polly  said  in  ft 
careless  tone,  but  with  a  bright  flush  upon  her  cheek. 

"He  is  nearly  as  old  as  you  are,  Polly,  and  he  is  one  of 
the  best  fellows  in  the  world.  I  know  he's  not  your 
equal  in  education,  but  a  steadier,  better  fellow,  never 
was." 

Mary  made  no  reply,  and  in  another  minute  the  two 
set  out  together  for  Varley.  In  spite  of  Ned's  confident 
assurance  that  he  would  appease  Luke's  anger,  Mary  was 
frightened  when,  as  they  entered  the  cottage,  she  saw 
Luke  standing  moodily  in  front  of  the  fire. 

"Oi  expected  this,"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  deep  bitter- 
ness. "Oi  were  a  fool  vor  to  think  as  you  war  different 
to  other  gals,  and  that  you  would  give  up  your  own 
wishes  to  your  feyther's." 

"Oh,  feyther!"  Polly  cried,  "don't  speak  so  to  me. 
Beat  me  if  you  like,  I  deserve  to  be  beaten,  but  don't 
speak  to  me  like  that.  I  am  ready  to  go  anywhere  you 
like,  and  to  be  a  good  daughter  to  you;  forgive  me  for 
this  w  3  disobeying  you." 

"Luke,  old  friend,"  Ned  said  earnestly,  putting  his 
hand  on  the  cropper's  shoulder,  "don't  be  angry  with 
Polly,  she  has  done  me  a  great  service.  1  have  learned 
the  truth,  and  know  what  you  meant  now  by  a  life  for 
a  life.  You  were  going  to  sacrifice  yourself  for  me. 
You  were  going  to  take  upon  yourself  a  crime  which  you 
never  committed  to  clear  me.  You  went  to  York  to  de- 
clare yourself  the  murderer  of  Mulready,  in  case  I  had 
been  found  guilty.  You  were  going  to  emigrate  to 
America  to  send  home  a  written  confession." 

"Who  says  as  how  oi  didn't  kill  Foxey?"  Luke  said 
doggedly.  "If  oi  choose  to  give  myself  oop  now  who  is 
to  gainsay  me?" 

"Mary  and  Bill  can  both  gainsay  you,"  Ned  said. 
"They  can  prove  that  you  did  not  stir  out  of  the  house 
that  night.  Come,  Luke,  it's  of  no  use.  I  feel  with  all 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  235 

nay  heart  grateful  to  you  for  the  sacrifice  you  were  will- 
ing to  make  for  rue.  I  thank  you  as  deeply  and  as 
heartily  as  if  you  had  made  it.  It  was  a  grand  act  of 
self-sacrifice,  and  you  must  not  be  vexed  with  Polly  that 
she  has  prevented  you  carrying  it  out.  It  would  have 
?nade  me  very  unhappy  had  she  not  done  so.  When  I 
found  that  you  were  gone  I  should  certainly  have  got 
out  from  Bill  the  truth  of  the  matter,  and  when  your 
confession  came  home  I  should  have  been  in  a  position 
to  prove  that  you  had  only  made  it  to  screen  me.  Be- 
sides, I  cannot  spare  you.  I  have  few  friends,  and  I 
should  be  badly  off  indeed  if  the  one  who  has  proved 
himself  the  truest  and  best  were  to  leave  me.  I  am  go* 
ing  to  carry  on  the  mill,  and  I  must  have  your  help.  I 
have  relied  upon  you  to  stand  by  me,  and  you  must  be 
the  foreman  of  your  department.  Come,  Luke,  you 
must  say  you  forgive  Polly  for  opening  my  eyes  just  a 
little  sooner  than  they  would  otherwise  have  been  to  the 
sacrifice  you  wanted  to  make  for  me." 

Luke,  who  was  sorely  shaken  by  Mary's  pitiful  sobs, 
could  resist  no  longer,  but  opened  his  arms,  and  the  girl 
pan  into  them. 

"There,  there,"  he  said,  "don't  ee  go  on  a  crying, 
girl;  thou  hasn't  done  no  wrong,  vor  indeed  it  must  have 
seemed  to  thee  flying  in  the  face  of  natur  to  go  away 
wi'out  saying  good-by  to  Maister  Ned.  Well,  sir,  oi  be 
main  sorry  as  it  has  turned  out  so.  Oi  should  ha'  loiked 
to  ha'  cleared  thee;  but  if  thou  won't  have  it  oi  caan't 
help  it.  Oi  tkink  thou  beest  wrong,  but  thou  know'st 
best." 

"Never  mind,  Luke,  I  shall  be  cleared  in  time,  I 
•trust,"  Ned  said.  "I  am  going  down  to  the  mill  to- 
morrow for  the  first  time,  and  shall  see  you  there.  You 
have  done  me  good,  Luke.  It  is  well,  indeed,  for  a  man 
to  know  that  he  has  such  a  friend  as  you  have  proved 
yourself  to  be." 


236 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A  LONELY  LIFE. 

THE  machinery  had  not  started  since  the  death  of  Mr. 
Mulready,  the  foreman  having  received  several  letters 
threatening  his  life  if  he  ventured  to  use  the  new  ma- 
chinery; and  the  works  had  therefore  been  carried  on  on 
their  old  basis  until  something  was  settled  as  to  their 
future  management. 

The  first  few  days  after  his  return  Ned  spent  his  time 
in  going  carefully  through  the  books  with  the  clerk,  and 
in  making  himself  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  finan- 
cial part  of  the  business.  He  was  assisted  by  Mr.  Person, 
who  came  every  evening  to  the  house,  and  went  through 
the  accounts  with  him.  The  foreman  and  the  men  in 
charge  of  the  different  rooms  were  asked  to  give  their 
opinion  as  to  whether  it  was  possible  to  reduce  expenses 
in  any  way,  but  they  were  unanimous  in  saying  that  this 
could  not  be  done.  The  pay  was  at  present  lower  than 
in  any  other  mill  in  the  district,  and  every  item  of  ex- 
penditure had  been  kept  down  by  Mr.  Mulready  to  the 
lowest  point. 

"It  is  clear,"  Ned  said  at  last,  "that  if  the  mill  is  to 
be  kept  on  we  must  use  the  new  machinery.  I  was  afraid 
it  would  be  so,  or  he  wo^ld  never  have  taken  to  it  and 
risked  his  life  unless  it  had  been  absolutely  necessary.  I 
don't  like  it,  for  I  have  strong  sympathies  with  the  men, 
and  although  I  am  sure  that  in  the  long  ran  the  hands 
will  benefit  by  the  increased  trade,  it  certainly  causes 


THROUGH  THE  FBA T.  23? 

great  suffering  at  present.  So  if  it  had  been  possible  I 
would  gladly  have  let  the  new  machinery  stand  idle  until 
the  feeling  against  it  had  passed  away;  but  as  I  see  that 
the  mill  has  been  running  at  a  loss  ever  since  prices  fell, 
it  is  quite  clear  that  we  must  use  it  at  once." 

The  next  morning  Ned  called  the  foreman  into  his 
office  at  the  mill,  and  told  him  that  he  had  determined 
to  set  the  new  machinery  at  work  at  once. 

"I  am  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  do  so,"  he  said,  "as  it 
will  considerably  reduce  the  number  of  hands  at  work; 
but  it  cannot  be  helped,  it  is  either  that  or  stopping  alto- 
gether, which  would  be  worse  still  for  the  men.  Be  as 
careful  as  you  can  in  turning  off  the  hands,  and  as  far  as 
possible  retain  all  the  married  men  with  families.-  The 
only  exception  to  that  rule  is  young  Swinton,  who  is  to 
be  kept  on  whoever  goes. 

That  evening  Luke  Marner  called  at  the  house  to  see 
Ned. 

"Be  it  true,  Maister  Ned,  as  the  voreman  says,  the 
new  machines  is  to  be  put  to  work?" 

"It  is  true,  Luke,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  I  would  have 
avoided  it  if  possible;  but  I  have  gone  into  the  matter 
•with  Mr.  Person,  and  I  find  I  must  either  do  that  or 
shut  up  the  mill  altogether,  which  would  be  a  good  deal 
worse  for  you  all.  Handwork  cannot  compete  with  ma- 
chinery, and  the  new  machines  will  face  a  dozen  yards 
of  cloth  while  a  cropper  is  doing  one,  and  will  do  it  much 
better  and  more  evenly." 

"That  be  so,  surely,  and  it  bain't  no  use  my  saying  as 
it  ain't,  and  it's  true  enough  what  you  says,  that  it's 
better  half  the  hands  should  be  busy  than  none;  but 
'  those  as  gets  the  sack  von't  see  it,  and  oi  fears  there 
will  be  mischief.  Oi  don't  hold  with  the  Luddites,  but 
oi  tell  ye  the  men  be  getting  desperate,  and  oi  be  main 
eure  as  there  will  be  trouble  afore  long.  Your  loifa 
won't  be  safe,  Maister  Nsd." 


238  THSO  UGH  THE  Fit  A  T. 

"I  don't  hold  much  to  my  life,"  Ned  laughed  bitterly, 
"so  the  Luddites  won't  be  able  to  frighten  me  there." 

"I  suppose  thou  wilt  have  some  of  the  hands  to  sleep 
at  the  mill,  as  they  do  at  some  of  the  other  places.  If 
thou  wilt  get  arms  those  as  is  at  work  will  do  their  best 
to  defend  it.  Cartwright  has  got  a  dozen  or  more  sleep- 
ing in  his  mill." 

"I  will  see  about  it,"  Ned  said,  "but  I  don't  think  I 
shall  do  that.  I  don't  want  any  men  to  get  killed  in  de- 
fending our  property." 

"Then  they  will  burn  it,  thou  wilt  see  if  they  doan't," 
Luke  said  earnestly. 

"I  hope  not,  Luke.  I  shall  do  my  best  to  prevent  it 
anyhow." 

"Oi  will  give  ee  warning  if  a  whisper  of  it  gets  to  moi 
ears,  you  may  be  sure,  but  the  young  uns  doan't  say 
much  to  us  old  hands,  who  be  mostly  agin  them,  and  in 
course  they  will  say  less  now  if  oi  be  one  of  those  kept 
on." 

"We  must  chance  it,  Luke;  but  be  sure,  whatever  I 
do  I  shan't  let  the  mill  be  destroyed  if  I  can  help  it." 

And  so  on  the  Monday  following  the  water-wheel  was 
set  going  and  the  new  machinery  began  to  work.  The 
number  of  hands  at  the  mill  was  reduced  by  nearly  one- 

•/  «/ 

half,  while  the  amount  of  cloth  turned  out  each  week 
was  quadrupled. 

The  machinery  had  all  the  latest  improvements,  and 
was  excellently  arranged.  Mr.  Mulready  had  thoroughly 
understood  his  business,  and  Ned  soon  saw  that  the  prof- 
its under  the  new  system  of  working  would  be  fully  as 
great  as  his  stepfather  h?d  calculated. 

A  very  short  time  elapsed  before  threatening  letters 
began  to  come  in.  Ned  paid  no  heed  to  them,  but  qui- 
etly v/ent  on  his  way.  The  dang.er  was,  however,  un- 
doubted. The  attitude  of  the  Luddites  had  become 


THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  T.  239 

more  openly  threatening.     Throughout  the  whole  of  the 
West  Riding  open  drilling  was  carried  on. 

The  mills  at  Marsden,  Woodbottom,  and  Ottewells 
were  all  threatened.  In  answer  to  the  appeals  of  the 
mill-owners  the  number  of  troops  in  the  district  was 
largely  increased.  Infantry  were  stationed  in  Marsden, 
and  the  10th  King's  Bays,  the  15th  Hussars,  and  the 
Scots  Greys  were  alternately  billeted  in  the  place.  The 
roads  to  Ottewells,  Woodbottom,  and  Lugards  Mill  were 
patrolled  regularly,  and  the  whole  country  was  excited 
and  alarmed  by  constant  rumors  of  attacks  upon  the 
mills. 

Ned  went  on  his  way  quietly,  asking  for  no  special 
protection  for  his  mill  or  person,  seemingly  indifferent 
to  the  excitement  which  prevailed.  Except  to  the  work- 
men in  the  mill,  to  the  doctor,  and  Mr.  Person  he  seldom 
exchanged  a  word  with  any  one  during  the  day. 

Mr.  Simmonds  and  several  of  his  father's  old  friends 
had  on  his  return  made  advances  toward  him,  but  he  had 
resolutely  declined  to  meet  them.  Mr.  Porson  and  the 
doctor  had  remonstrated  with  him. 

"It  is  no  use,"  he  replied.  "They  congratulated  me 
on  my  acquittal,  but  I  can  tell  by  their  tones  that  there 
is  not  one  of  them  who  thoroughly  believes  in  his  heart 
that  I  am  innocent." 

The  only  exception  which  Ned  made  was  Mr.  Cart- 
aright,  a  mill-owner  at  Liversedge.  He  had  been  slightly 
acquainted  with  Captain  Sankey;  and  one  day  soon  after 
Ned's  return  as  he  was  walking  along  the  street  oblivious, 
as  usual,  of  every  one  passing,  Mr.  Cartwright  came  up 
and  placing  himself  in  front  of  him,  said  heartily: 
.  "I  congratulate  you  -=yith  all  my  heart,  Sankey,  on 
your  escape  from  this  rascally  business.  I  knew  tbat 
your  innocence  would  be  proved.  I  would  have  staked 
my  life  that  your  father's  son  never  had  any  haad  in 
such  a  black  affair  as  this.  I  am  heartily  glad." 


240  THROUGH  THE  FRAY. 

There  was  no  withstanding  the  frank  cordiality  of  the 
Yorkshireman's  manner.  Ned's  reserve  melted  at  once 
before  it. 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  he  said,  returning  the  grasp 
of  his  hand;  "but  I  am  afraid  that  though  I  was  acquit- 
ted my  innocence  wasn't  proved,  and  never  will  be.  You 
may  think  me  innocent,  but  you  will  find  but  half  a 
dozen  people  in  Marsden  to  agree  with  you." 

"Pooh!  pooh!"  Mr.  Cartwright  said.  "You  must  not 
look  at  things  in  that  light.  Most  men  are  fools,  you 
know;  never  fear.  We  shall  prove  you  innocent  some 
day.  I  have  no  doubt  these  rascally  Luddites  are  at  the 
bottom  of  it.  And  now,  look  bhere,  young  fellow,  I  hear 
that  you  are  going  to  run  the  mill.  Of  course  you  can't 
know  much  about  it  yet.  Now  I  am  an  old  hand  and 
shall  be  happy  to  give  you  any  advice  in  my  power,  both 
for  your  own  sake  and  for  that  of  your  good  father. 
Now  I  mean  what  I  say,  and  I  shall  be  hurt  if  you  refuse. 
I  am  in  here  two  or  three  times  a  week,  and  my  road 
takes  me  within  five  hundred  yards  of  your  mill,  so  it 
will  be  no  trouble  to  me  to  come  round  for  half  an  hour 
as  I  pass,  and  give  you  a  few  hints  until  you  get  well 
into  harness.  There  are  dodges  in  our  trads,  you  know, 
as  well  as  in  all  others,  and  you  must  be  put  up  to  them 
if  you  are  to  keep  up  in  the  race.  There  is  plenty  of 
room  for  us  all,  and  now  that  the  hands  are  all  banding 
themselves  against  us,  we  mill-owners  must  stand  together 
too." 

Ned  at  once  accepted  the  friendly  offer,  and  two  or 
three  times  a  week  Mr.  Cartwright  came  round  to  the 
mill,  went  round  the  piace  with  Ned,  and  gave  him  his 
advice  as  to  the  commercial  transactions.  Ned  found 
this  of  inestimable  benefit.  Mr.  Cartwright  was  ac- 
quainted with  all  the  buyers  in  that  part  of  Yorkshire, 
and  was  able  several  times  to  prevent  Ned  from  entering 


THROUGH  THE  FRA  T.  241 

into  transactions  with  men  willing  to  take  advantage  of 
his  inexperience. 

Sometimes  he  went  over  with  Mr.  Cartwright  to  his 
mill  at  Liversedge  and  obtained  many  a  useful  hint  fcfaere 
as  to  the  management  of  his  business.  Only  in  the  mat- 
ter of  having  some  of  his  hands  to  sleep  at  the  mill  Ned 
declined  to  act  on  the  advice  of  his  new  friend. 

"No,"  he  said;  "I  am  determined  that  I  will  have  no 
lives  risked  in  tlie  defense  of  our  property.  It  has  cost 
us  dearly  enoug  i  already. 

But  though  Ned  refused  to  have  any  of  his  hands  to 
sleep  at  the  mill,  he  had  a  bed  fitted  up  in  his  office,  and 
every  night  at  ten  o'clock,  after  Charlie  had  gone  to  bed, 
he  walked  out  to  the  mill  and  slept  there.  Heavy  shut- 
ters were  erected  to  all  the  lower  windows,  and  bells  were 
attached  to  these  and  to  the  doors,  which  would  ring  at 
the  slightest  motion. 

A  cart  one  evening  arrived  from  Huddersfield  after 
the  hands  had  left  the  mill,  and  under  Ned's  direction  a 
number  of  small  barrels  were  carried  up  to  his  office. 

Although  three  months  had  now  elapsed  since  his  re- 
turn home  he  had  never  once  seen  his  mother,  and  tha 
knowledge  that  she  still  regarded  him  as  the  murderer 
of  her  husband  greatly  added  to  the  bitterness  of  his  life. 
Of  an  evening  after  Lucy  had  gone  to  bed  he  assisted 
Charlie  with  his  lessons,  and  also  worked  for  an  hour 
with  Bill  Swinton,  who  came  regularly  every  evening  to 
be  taught. 

Bill  had  a  strong  motive  for  self-improvement.  Ned 
had  promised  him  that  some  day  he  should  be  foreman  to 
the  factory,  but  that  before  he  could  take  such  a  position  it 
would,  of  course,  be  necessary  that  he  should  be  able  to 
read  and  write  well.  But  an  even  higher  incentive  A\\  < 
Bill's  sense  of  his  great  inferiority  in  point  of  education 
to  Polly  Powlett.  He  entertained  a  deep  affection  for 


TEE  PR  A  Y. 

her,  but  he  knew  how  she  despised  the  rough  and  igne- 
rant  young  fellows  at  Varley,  and  he  felt  that  even  if  she 
loved  him  she  would  not  consent  tt>  marry  him  unless  he 
were  in  point  of  education  in  some  way  her  equal;  there- 
fore he  applied  himself  with  all  his  heart  to  improving 
his  education. 

It  was  no  easy  task,  for  Bill  was  naturally  somewhat 
slow  and  heavy;  but  he  had  perseverance,  which  makes 
tip  for  many  deficiencies,  and  his  heart  being  in  his  work 
he  made  really  rapid  progress. 

Sometimes  Ned  would  start  earlier  than  usual,  and 
walk  up  with  Bill  Swinton,  talking  to  him  as  they  went 
over  the  subjects  on  which  he  had  been  working,  the 
condition  of  the  villagers,  or  the  results  of  Bill's  Sunday 
rambles  over  the  moors. 

On  arriving  at  Varley  Ned  generally  went  in  for  half 
an  hour's  talk  with  Luke  Marner  and  Mary  Powlett  be- 
fore going  off  for  the  night  to  sleep  at  the  mill.  With 
these  three  friends,  who  all  were  passionately  convinced 
of  his  innocence,  he  was  more  at  his  ease  than  anywhere 
else,  for  at  home  the  thought  of  the  absent  figure  up- 
stairs was  a  never-ceasing  pain. 

"The  wind  is  very  high  to-night,  Ned  said  one  even- 
ing as  the  cottage  shook  with  a  gust  which  swept  down 
from  the  moor. 

"Ay,  that  it  be,"  Luke  agreed;  "but  it  is  nowt  to  a 
storm  oi  saw  when  oi  war  a  young  chap  on  t*  coast!" 

"I  did  not  know  you  had  ever  been  away  from  Valley," 
Ned  said,  "tell  me  ab.out  it,  Luke." 

"Well,  it  coomed  round  i'  this  way.  One  of  t'  chaps 
from  here  had  a  darter  who  had  married  and  gone  to 
live  nigh  t'  coast,  and  he  went  vor  a  week  to  see  her. 

"Theere'd  been  a  storm  when  he  was  there,  and  he 
told  us  aboot  the  water  being  all  broke  up  into  furrowes, 
for  all  the  world  like  a  plowed  field,  only  each  ridge  wur 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  243 

twice  as  high  as  one  of  our  houses,  and  they  came  a 
moving  along  as  fast  as  a  horse  could  gallop,  and  when 
they  hit  the  rocks  view  up  into  t'  air  as  hoigh  as  the 
steeple  o'  Marsden  church.  It  seemed  to  us  as  this  must 
be  a  lie,  and  there  war  a  lot  of  talk  oor  it,  and  at  last 
vour  on  us  made  up  our  moinds  as  we  would  go  over  and 
see  vor  ourselves. 

"It  war  a  longer  tramp  nor  we  had  looked  vor,  and 
though  we  sometoimes  got  a  lift  i'  a  cart  we  was  all  pretty 
footsore  when  we  got  to  the  end  of  our  journey.  The 
village  as  we  was  bound  for  stood  oop  on  t'  top  of  a  flat- 
tish  hill,  one  side  of  which  seemed  to  ha'  been  cut  away 
by  a  knife,  and  when  you  got  to  the  edge  there  you  were 
a  standing  at  the  end  o'  the  world.  Oi  know  when  we 
got  thar  and  stood  and  looked  out  from  the  top  o'  that 
wall  o'  rock  thar  warn't  a  word  among  us. 

"We  was  a  noisy  lot,  and  oi  didn't  think  as  nothing 
would  ha'  silenced  a  cropper;  but  thar  we  stood  a-look- 
ing  over  a*  the  end  of  the  world,  oi  should  say  for  five 
minutes,  vi'out  a  word  being  spoke.  Oi  can  see  it  now. 
There  warn't  a  breath  of  wind  nor  a  cloud  i'  the  sky. 
It  seemed  to  oi  as  if  the  sky  went  away  as  far  as  we  could 
see,  ard  then  seemed  to  be  doubled  down  in  a  line  and 
to  coom  roight  back  agin  to  our  feet.  It  joost  took  away 
our  breath,  and  seemed  somehow  to  bring  a  lump  into 
the  throat.  Oi  talked  it  over  wi*  the  others  afterward 
and  we'd  all  felt  just  the  same. 

"It  beat  us  altogether,  and  you  never  see  a  lot  of  crop- 
pers so  quiet  and  orderly  as  we  war  as  we  went  up  to  t' 
village.  Most  o'  t'  men  war  away,  as  we  arterward 
learned,  fishing,  and  t'  women  didn't  knaw  what  to 
make  o'  us,  but  gathered  at  their  doors  and  watched  us 
as  if  we  had  been  a  party  o'  robbers  coom  down  to  burn 
the  place  and  carry  'em  away.  However,  when  we  found 
Sally  "White — that  war  tire  name  of  the  woman  as.  had 


244  THROUGH  THE  PR  AT. 

married  from  Varley — she  went  round  the  village  and 
told  'em  as  we  was  a  party  of  her  friends  who  had  joost 
walked  across  Yorkshire  to  ha'  a  look  at  the  sea.  An- 
other young  chap,  Jack  Purcell  war  his  name,  as  was 
Sally's  brother,  and  oi,  being  his  mate,  we  stopt  at  Sally's 
house.  The  other  two  got  a  lodging  close  handy. 

"Vor  the  vurst  day  or  two  vokes  war  shy  of  us,  but 
arter  that  they  began  to  see  as  we  meant  no  harm.  Of 
course  they  looked  on  us  as  foreigners,  just  as  we  crop- 
pers do  here  on  anyone  as  cooms  to  Varley.  Then  Sally's 
husband  coom  back  from  sea  and  spoke  up  vor  us,  and 
that  made  things  better,  and  as  we  war  free  wi*  our 
money  the  fishermen  took  to  us  more  koindly. 

"We  soon  found  as  the  water  warn't  always  smooth 
and  blue  like  the  sky  as  we  had  seen  it  at  first.  The 
wind  coom  on  to  blow  the  vurst  night  as  we  war  thar, 
and  the  next  morning  the  water  war  all  tossing  aboot 
joost  as  Sally's  feyther  had  said,  though  not  so  high  as 
he  had  talked  on.  Still  the  wind  warn't  a  blowing  much, 
as  Sally  pointed  owt  to  us;  in  a  regular  storm  it  would 
be  a  different  sort  o'  thing  altogether.  We  said  as  we 
should  loike  to  see  one,  as  we  had  coom  all  that  way  o' 
purpose.  The  vorth  noight  arter  we  got  there  Sally's 
husband  said:  'You  be  a  going  vor  to  have  your  wish; 
the  wind  be  a  getting  up,  and  we  are  loike  to  have  a  big 
storm  on  the  coast  to-morrow.'  And  so  it  war.  Oi  can't 
tell  you  what  it  war  loike,  oi've  tried  over  and  over  again 
to  tell  Polly,  but  no  words  as  oi  can  speak  can  give  any 
idee  of  it. 

"It  war  not  loike  anything  as  you  can  imagine. 
Standing  down  on  the  shore  tho  water  seemed  all  broke 
up  into  hills,  and  as  if  each  hill  was  a-trying  to  get  at 
you,  and  a-breaking  itself  up  on  the  shore  wi'  a  roar  of 
rage  when  it  found  as  it  couldn't  reach  you.  The  noise 
war  so  great  as  you  couldn't  hear  a  man  standing  beside 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  245 

you  speak  to  you.  Not  when  he  hollooed.  One's  words 
war  blowed  away.  It  felt  somehow  as  if  one  war  having 
a  wrastle  wi'  a  million  wild  beasts.  They  tells  me  as  the 
ships  at  sea  sometoimes  iloates  and  gets  through  a  storm 
loike  that;  but  oi  doan't  believe  it,  and  shouldn't  if  they 
took  their  Bible  oath  to  it,  it  hain't  in  reason. 

"One  of  them  waves  would  ha'  broaked  this  cottage 
up  loike  a  egg-shell.  Oi  do  believes  as  it  would  ha' 
smashed  Marsden  church,  and  it  doan't  stand  to  reason 
as  a  ship,  which  is  built,  they  tells  me,  of  wood  and  plank, 
would  stand  agin  waves  as  would  knock  doon  a  church. 
Arter  the  storm  oi  should  ha'  coom  back  next  morning, 
vor  I  felt  fairly  frightened.  There  didn't  seem  no  say- 
ing as  to  what  t'  water  moight  do  next  toime.  We 
should  ha*  gone  there  and  then,  only  Sally's  husband 
told  us  as  a  vessel  war  expected  in  two  or  three  days  wi5 
a  cargo  of  tubs  and  she  was  to  run  them  in  a  creek  a  fe^ 
miles  away. 

"He  said  as  loike  as  not  there  moight  be  a  foight  wi1 
the  officers,  and  that  being  so  we  naterally  made  up  oui 
moinds  vor  to  stop  and  lend  un  a  hand.  One  night  artei 
it  got  dark  we  started,  and  arter  a  tramp  of  two  or  three 
hours  cam'  to  the  place.  It  were  a  dark  noight,  and  how 
the  ship  as  was  bringing  the  liquor  was  to  foind  oot  the 
place  was  more  nor  oi  could  make  oot.  Jack  he  tried  tc 
explain  how  they  did  it,  but  oi  couldn't  make  head  nor 
tails  on  it  except  that  when  they  got  close  they  war  to 
show  a  loight  twice,  and  we  war  to  show  a  loight  twice  if 
it  war  all  roight  for  landing. 

"Oi  asked  what  had  becoom  of  the  revenue  men,  and 
was  told  as  a  false  letter  had  been  writ  saying  a  landing 
Was  to  be  made  fifteen  mile  away.  We  went  vorward  to 
a  place  whar  there  war  a  break  in  the  rocks,  and  a  sort 
of  valley  ran  down  to  the  sea.  There  war  a  lot  of  men 
standing  aboot,  and  just  as  we  coom  up  thar  war  a  move. 


246  THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  7. 

and  we  hears  as  the  loights  had  been  shown  and  the  vea« 
sel  war  running  in  close.  Down  we  goes  wi'  the  others, 
and  soon  a  boat  cooms  ashore.  As  soon  as  she  gets  close 
the  men  runs  out  to  her;  the  sailors  hands  out  barrels, 
and  each  man  shoulders  one  and  trudges  off.  We  does 
the  sains  and  takes  the  kegs  up  to  t'  top,  whar  carts  and 
horses  was  waiting  for  'em.  Oi  went  oop  and  down 
three  toimes  and  began  to  think  as  there  war  moor  hard 
work  nor  fun  aboot  it.  Oi  war  a-going  to  knock  off  when 
some  one  says  as  one  more  trip  would  finish  the  cargo,  so 
down  oi  goes  again.  Just  when  oi  gets  to  t'  bottom 
there  war  a  great  shouting  oop  at  tqp.  "They're  just 
too  late/  a  man  says;  'the  kegs  be  all  safe  away  except 
this  lot/  for  the  horses  and  carts  had  gone  off  the  instant 
as  they  got  their  loads.  'Now  we  must  run  for  it,  for 
the  revenue  men  will  be  as  savage  as  may  be  when  they 
voinds  as  they  be  too  late.'  'Where  be  us  to  run?'  says 
oi.  'Keep  close  to  me,  oi  knows  the  place,'  says  he. 

"So  we  runs  down  and  voinds  as  they  had  tumbled  the 
bar'ls  into  t'  boat  again,  and  t'  men  war  just  pushing 
her  off  when  there  war  a  shout  close  to  us.  'Shove, 
shove!'  shouts  the  men,  and  oi  runs  into  t'  water  loike 
t'  rest  and  shooved.  Then  a  lot  o'  men  run  up  shout- 
ing, 'Stop!  in  the  king's  name!'  and  began  vor  to  fire 
pistols. 

"Nateral  oi  wasn't  a-going  to  be  fired  at  for  nowt,  so  oi. 
clutches  moi  stick  and  goes  at  'em  wi'  the  rest,  keeping 
close  to  t'  chap  as  told  me  as  he  knew  the  coontry. 
There  was  a  sharp  foight  vor  a  minute.  Oi  lays  aboot 
me  hearty  and  gets  a  crack  on  my  ear  wi'  a  cootlas,  as 
they  calls  theer  swords,  as  made  me  pretty  wild. 

"We  got  the  best  o't.  'doom  on,'  says  the  man  to 
me,  'there's  a  lot  moor  on  'em  a-cooming.'  So  oi  makes 
off  as  hard  as  oi  could  arter  him.  He  keeps  straight 
along  at  t'  edge  o' t'  water.  It  war  soft  rowing  at  first, 


THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  T.  247 

vor  fcj  place  war  as  flat  as  a  table,  but  arter  running  vor  a 
lew  minutes  he  says,  'Look  owt!'  Oi  didn't  know  what 
to  look  owt  vor,  and  dcwn  oi  goes  plump  into  t'  water. 
Vor  all  at  once  we  had  coomed  upon  a  lot  o'  rocks  cov- 
ered wi'  a  sort  of  slimy  stuff,  and  so  slippery  as  you  could 
scarce  keep  a  footing  on  'em.  Oi  picks  myself  up  and 
vollers  him.  By  this  toime,  maister,  oi  war  beginning 
vor  to  think  as  there  warn't  so  mooch  vun  as  oi  had  ex- 
pected in  this  koind  o'  business.  Oi  had  been  working 
two  hours  loike  a  nigger  a-carrying  tubs.  Oi  had  had 
moi  ear  pretty  nigh  cut  off,  and  it  smarted  wi'  the  salt 
water  awful.  Oi  war  wet  from  head  to  foot  and  had 
knocked  the  skin  off  moi  hands  and  knees  when  oi  went 
down.  However  there  warn't  no  toime  vor  to  grumble. 
Oi  vollers  him  till  we  gets  to  t'  foot  o' t'  rocks,  and  we 
keeps  along  'em  vor  aboot  half  a  mile. 

"The  water  here  coombed  close  oop  to  t'  rocks,  and 
presently  we  war  a-walking  through  it.  'Be'st  a  going 
vor  to  drown  us  all?'  says  oi.  'We  are  jest  there,'  says 
he.  'Ten  minutes  later  we  couldn't  ha'  got  along.'  T' 
water  war  a-getting  deeper  and  deeper,  and  t'  loomps  of 
water  cooms  along  and  well-nigh  took  me  off  my  feet. 
Oi  was  aboot  to  turn  back,  vor  it  war  better,  thinks  oi, 
to  be  took  by  t'  king's  men  than  to  be  droonded,  when 
he  says,  'Here  we  be.'  He  climbs  oop  t'  rocks  and  oi 
follows  him.  Arter  climbing  a  short  way  he  cooms  to  a 
hole  i'  rocks,  joost  big  enough  vor  to  squeeze  through, 
but  once  inside  it  opened  out  into  a  big  cave.  A  chap 
had  struck  a  loight,  and  there  war  ten  or  twelve  more  on 
us  thar.  'We  had  better  wait  another  five  minutes,'  says 
one,  'to  see  if  any  more  cooms  along.  Arter  that  tho 
tide  ull  be  too  high.' 

"We  waits,  but  no  one  else  cooms;  me  and  moi  mate 
V  last.  Then  we  goes  to  t'  back  of  the  cave,  whar  't 
sloped  down  lower  and  lower  till  we  had  to  crawl 


248  THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  7. 

along  one  arter  t'other  pretty  nigh  on  our  stomachs,  like 
raats  going  into  a  hole.  Oi  wonders  whar  on  aarth  we 
war  agoing,  till  at  last  oi  found  sudden  as  oi  could  stand 
oopright.  Then  two  or  three  more  torches  war  lighted, 
and  we  begins  to  climb  oop  some  steps  cut  i'  the  face  of 
t'  rock.  A  rope  had  been  fastened  alongside  to  hold  on 
by,  which  war  a  good  job  for  me,  vor  oi  should  never  ha' 
dared  go  oop  wi'out  it,  vor  if  oi  had  missed  my  foot  there 
warn't  no  saying  how  far  oi  would  ha'  fallen  to  t'  bottom. 
At  last  the  man  avore  me  says,  'Here  we  be!'  and  grate- 
ful oi  was,  vor  what  wi'  the  crawling  and  the  climbing, 
and  the  funk  as  oi  was  in  o'  falling,  the  swaat  was  a-run- 
ning  down  me  loike  water.  The  torches  war  put  out, 
and  in  another  minute  we  pushes  through  some  bushes 
and  then  we  war  on  t'  top  of  the  cliff,  a  hundred  yards 
or  so  back  from  t'  edge,  and  doon  in  a  sort  of  hollow  all 
"covered  thickly  over  wi'  bushes.  We  stood  and  listened 
vor  a  moment,  but  no  sound  war  to  be  heard.  Then  one 
on  'em  says,  'We  ha'  done  'em  agin.  Now  the  sooner 
as  we  gets  off  to  our  homes  the  better.'  Looky  for  me, 
Jack  war  one  of  the  lot  as  had  coom  up  through  the 
cave.  'Coom  along,  Luke,'  says  he,  'oi  be  glad  thou 
hast  got  out  of  it  all  roight.  We  must  put  out  best  foot 
foremost  to  get  in  afore  day  breaks.'  So  we  sets  off,  and 
joost  afore  morning  we  gets  back  to  village.  As  to 
t'other  two  from  Varley,  they  never  coom  back  agin. 
Oi  heerd  as  how  all  as  war  caught  war  pressed  for  sea, 
and  oi  expect  they  war  oot  in  a  ship  when  a  storm  coom 
on,  when  in  coorse  they  would  be  drownded.  Oi  started 
next  day  vor  hoam,  and  from  that  day  to  this  oi  ha'  never 
been  five  mile  away,  and  what's  more,  oi  ha'  never 
grudged  the  price  as  they  asted  for  brandy.  It  ud  be 
cheap  if  it  cost  voive  toimes  as  much,  seeing  the  trouble 
and  danger  as  there  be  in  getting  it  ashore,  to  say  noth- 
ing o*  carrying  it  across  the  sea." 


THROUGH  THE  FRAY.  249 

"That  was  an  adventure,  Luke,"  Ned  said,  "and  you 
were  well  out  of  it.  I  had  no  idea  you  had  ever  been 
engaged  in  defrauding  the  king's  revenue.  But  now  I 
must  be  off.  I  shall  make  straight  across  for  the  mill 
without  going  into  Varlsy." 

One  night  Ned  had  as  usual  gone  to  the  mill,  and  hav- 
ing carried  down  the  twelve  barrels  from  the  office  and 
placed  them  in  a  pile  in  the  center  of  the  principal  room 
of  the  mill  he  retired  to  bed.  He  had  been  asleep  for 
some  hours  when  he  was  awoke  by  the  faint  tingle  of  a 
belL  The  office  was  over  the  principal  entrance  to  the 
mill,  and  leaping  from  his  bed  he  threw  up  the  window 
and  Ic-oked  out.  The  night  was  dark,  but  he  could  see  a 
crowd  of  at  least  two  hundred  men  gathered  in  the  yard. 
As  the  window  was  heard  to  open  a  sudden  roar  broke 
from  the  men,  who  had  hitherto  conducted  their  opera- 
tions in  silence. 

"There  he  be,  there's  the  young  fox;  burn  the  mill 
over  his  head.  Now  to  work,  lads,  burst  in  the  door." 

And  at  once  a  man  armed  with  a  mighty  sledgehammer 
began  to  batter  at  the  door. 

Ned  tried  to  make  himself  heard,  but  his  voice  was 
lost  in  the  roar  without.  Throwing  on  some  clothes  he 
ran  rapidly  downstairs  and  lighted  several  lamps  in  the 
machine-room.  Then  he  went  to  the  door,  which  was 
already  tottering  under  the  heavy  blows,  shot  back  some 
of  the  bolts,  and  then  took  his  place  by  the  side  of  the 
pile  of  barrels  with  a  pistol  in  his  hand. 

In  another  moment  the  door  yielded  and  fell  with  a 
crash,  and  the  crowd  with  exultant  cheers  poured  in. 
They  paused  surprised  and  irresolute  at  seeing  Ned 
standing  quiet  and  seemingly  indifferent  by  the  pile  of 
barrels  in  the  center  of  the  room. 

"Hold!"  he  said  in  a  quiet,  clear  voice,  which  sounded 
distinctly  over  the  tumult.  "Do  not  come  any  nearer, 


250  THRO  UGH  THE!  FRA  7. 

or  it  will  be  the  worse  for  you.  Do  you  know  what  Ihaye 
got  here,  lads?  This  is  powder.  If  you  doubt  it,  one  of 
you  can  come  forward  and  look  at  this  barrel  with  the 
head  out  by  my  side.  Now  I  have  only  got  to  fire  my 
pistol  into  it  to  blow  the  mill,  and  you  with  it,  into  the 
air,  and  I  mean  to  do  it.  Of  course  I  shall  go  too;  but 
some  of  you  with  black  masks  over  your  faces,  who,  I 
suppose,  live  near  here,  may  know  something  about  me, 
and  may  know  that  my  life  is  not  so  pleasant  a  one  that 
I  value  it  in  the  slightest.  As  far  as  I  am  concerned  you 
might  burn  the  mill  and  me  with  it  without  my  lifting  a 
finger;  but  this  mill  is  the  property  of  my  mother, 
brother,  and  sister.  Their  living  depends  upon  it,  and  I 
am  going  to  defend  it.  Let  one  of  you  stir  a  single  step 
forward  and  I  fire  this  pistol  into  this  barrel  beside  me." 
And  Ned  held  the  pistol  over  the  open  barrel. 

A  dead  silence  of  astonishment  and  terror  had  fallen 
upon  the  crowd.  The  light  was  sufficient  for  them  to 
see  Ned's  pale  but  determined  face,  and  as  his  words 
came  out  cold  and  steady  there  was  not  one  who  doubted 
that  he  was  in  earnest,  and  that  he  was  prepared  to  blow 
himself  and  them  into  the  air  if  necessary. 

A  cry  of  terror  burst  from  them  as  he  lowered  the 
pistol  to  the  barrel  of  powder.  Then  in  wild  dismay 
every  man  threw  down  his  arms  and  fled,  jostling  each 
other  fiercely  to  make  their  escape  through  the  doorway 
from  the  fate  which  threatened  them.  In  a  few  seconds 
the  place  was  cleared  and  the  assailants  in  full  flight 
across  the  country.  Ned  laughed  contemptuously.  Then 
with  some  difficulty  he  lifted  the  broken  door  into  its 
place,  put  some  props  behind  it,  fetched  a  couple  of 
blankets  from  his  bed,  and  lay  down  near  the  powder, 
and  there  slept  quietly  till  morning. 

Luke  and  Bill  Swinton  were  down  at  the  factory  an 
hour  before  the  usual  time.  The  assailants  had  for  the 


THROUGH  THE  FRAY.  251 

most  part  come  over  from  Huddersfield,  but  many  of  the 
men  from  Varley  had  been  among  them.  The  terror  which 
Ned's  attitude  had  inspired  had  been  so  great  that  the 
secret  was  less  well  kept  than  usual,  and  as  soon  as  people 
were  astir  the  events  of  the  night  were  known  to  most  in 
the  village.  The  moment  the  news  reached  the  ears  of 
Luke  and  Bill  they  hurried  down  to  the  mill  without  go- 
ing in  as  usual  for  their  mug  of  beer  and  bit  of  bread 
and  cheese  at  the  "Brown  Cow." 

The  sight  of  the  shattered  door  at  once  told  them  that 
the  rumors  they  had  heard  were  well  founded.  They 
knocked  loudly  upon  it. 

"Hullo!"  Ned  shouted,  rousing  himself  from  his 
slumbers;  "who  is  there?  What  are  you  kicking  up  all 
this  row  about?" 

"It's  oi,  Maister  Ned,  oi  and  Bill,  and  glad  oi  am  to 
hear  your  voice.  It's  true,  then,  they  haven't  hurt 
thee?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  Ned  said  as  he  moved  the  supports 
of  the  door.  "I  think  they  got  the  worst  of  it." 

"If  so  be  as  what  oi  ha'  heard  be  true  you  may  well 
say  that,  Maister  Ned.  Oi  hear  as  you  ha'  gived  'em 
such  a  fright  as  they  won't  get  over  in  a  hurry.  They 
say  as  you  was  a-sitting  on  the  top  of  a  heap  of  gunpowder 
up  to  the  roof  with  a  pistol  in  each  hand." 

"Not  quite  so  terrible  as  that,  Luke;  but  the  effect 
would  have  been  the  same.  Those  twelve  barrels  of 
powder  you  see  there  would  have  blown  the  mill  and  all 
in  it  into  atoms." 

"Lord,  Maister  Ned,"  Bill  said,  "where  didst  thou  get 
that  powder,  and  why  didn't  ye  say  nowt  about  it?  Oi 
ha'  seen  it  up  in  the  office,  now  oi  thinks  on  it.  Oi 
wondered  what  them  barrels  piled  up  in  a  corner  and 
covered  over  wi'  sacking  could  be;  but  it  warn't  no  busi- 
ness o'  mine  to  ax." 


252  THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  7. 

"No,  Bill,  I  did  not  want  any  of  them  to  know  about 
it,  because  these  things  get  about,  and  half  the  effect  is 
lost  unless  they  come  as  a  surprise;  but  I  meant  to  do  it 
if  I  had  been  driven  to  it,  and  if  I  had,  King  Lud  would 
have  had  a  lesson  which  he  would  not  have  forgotten  in 
a  hurry.  Now,  Luke,  you  and  Bill  had  better  help  me 
carry  them  back  to  their  usual  place.  I  don't  think 
they  are  likely  to  be  wanted  again.'* 

"That  they  won't  be,"  Luke  said  confidently;  "the 
Luddites  ull  never  come  near  this  mill  agin,  not  if  thou 
hast  twenty  toimes  as  many  machines.  They  ha'  got  a 
freight  they  won't  get  over.  They  told  me  as  how  some 
of  the  chaps  at  Varley  was  so  freighted  that  they  will 
be  a  long  toime  afore  they  gets  round.  Oi'll  go  and  ask 
to-night  how  that  Methurdy  chap,  the  blacksmith,  be  a 
feeling.  Oi  reckon  he's  at  the  bottom  on  it.  Dang  un 
for  a  mischievous  rogue!  Varley  would  ha'  been  quiet 
enough  without  him.  Oi  be  wrong  if  oi  shan't  see  him 
dangling  from  a  gibbet  one  of  these  days,  and  a  good 
riddance  too." 

The  powder  was  stowed  away  before  the  hands  began 
to  arrive,  all  full  of  wonder  and  curiosity.  They  learned 
little  at  the  mill,  however.  Ned  went  about  the  place  as 
usual  with  an  unchanged  face,  and  the  hands  were  soon 
at  their  work;  but  many  during  the  day  wondered  how 
it  was  possible  that  their  quiet  and  silent  young  employer 
should  have  been  the  hero  of  the  desperate  act  of  which 
every  one  had  heard  reports  more  or  less  exaggerated. 

A  lad  had  been  sent  over  to  Marsden  the  first  thing 
for  some  carpenters,  and  by  nightfall  a  rough  but  strong 
door  had  been  hung  in  place  of  that  which  had  been 
shattered.  By  the  next  day  rumor  had  carried  the  tale 
all  over  Marsden,  and  Ned  on  his  return  home  was 
greeted  by  Charlie  with: 

"Why,  Ned,  there  is  all  sorts  of  talk  in  the  place  of 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  253 

an  attack  upon  the  mill  the  night  before  last.  Why 
didn't  you  tell  me  about  it?" 

"Yes,  Maister  Ned/'  Abijah  put  in,  "and  they  say  as 
you  blew  up  about  a  thousand  of  them." 

"Yes,  Abijah,"  Ned  said  with  a  laugh,  "and  the  pieces 
haven't  come  down  yet." 

"No!  but  really,  Ned,  what  is  it  all  about?" 

"There  is  not  much  to  tell  you,  Charlie.  The  Lud- 
dites came  and  broke  open  the  door.  I  had  got  several 
barrels  of  powder  there,  and  when  they  came  in  I  told 
them  if  they  came  any  further  I  should  blow  the  place 
Up.  That  put  them  in  a  funk,  and  they  all  bolted,  and 
I  went  to  sleep  again.  That's  the  whole  affair." 

"Oh!"  Charlie  said  in  a  disappointed  voice,  for  this 
seemed  rather  tame  after  the  thrilling  reports  he  had 
heard. 

"Then  you  didn't  blow  up  any  of  'em,  Maister  Ned," 
Abijah  said  doubtfully. 

"Not  a  man  jack,  Abijah.  You  see  I  could  not  very 
well  have  blown  them  up  without  going  up  myself  too, 
so  I  thought  it  better  to  put  it  off  for  another  time." 

"They  are  very  wicked,  bad  men,"  Lucy  said  gravely. 

"Not  so  very  wicked  and  bad,  Lucy.  You  see  they 
are  almost  starving,  and  they  consider  that  the  new  ma- 
chines have  taken  the  bread  out  of  their  mouths,  which 
is  true  enough.  Now  you  know  when  people  are  starv- 
ing, and  have  not  bread  for  their  wives  and  children, 
they  are  apt  to  get  desperate.  If  I  were  to  see  you 
starving,  and  thought  that  somebody  or  something  was 
keeping  the  bread  out  of  your  mouth,  I  dare  say  I  should 
do  something  desperate." 

"But  it  would  be  wrong  all  the  same,59  Lucy  said 
doubtfully. 

"Yes,  my  dear,  but  it  would  be  natural;  and  when 
human  nature  pulls  one  way,  and  what  is  right  pulls  tha 
other,  the  human  nature  generally  gets  the  best  of  it." 


254  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  F. 

Lucy  did  not  exactly  understand,  but  she  shook  her 
head  gravely  in  general  dissent  to  Ned's  view. 

"Why  did  you  not  tell  us  when  you  came  home  to 
Veakfast  yesterday?"  Charlie  asked. 

"Because  I  thought  you  were  sure  to  hear  sooner  01 
later.  I  saw  all  the  hands  in  the  mill  had  got  to  know 
about  it  somehow  or  other,  and  I  was  sure  it  would  soon 
get  over  the  place;  and  I  would  rather  that  I  could  say, 
if  any  one  asked  me,  that  I  had  not  talked  about  it  to 
any  one,  and  was  in  no  way  responsible  for  the  absurd 
stories  which  had  got  about.  I  have  been  talked  about 
enough  in  Marsden,  goodness  knows,  and  it  is  disgusting 
that  just  as  I  should  think  they  must  be  getting  tired  of 
the  subject  here  is  something  fresh  for  them  to  begin 
upon  again." 

As  they  were  at  tea  the  servant  brought  in  a  note 
which  had  just  been  left  at  the  door.  It  was  from  Mr. 
Thompson,  saying  that  in  consequence  of  the  rumors 
which  were  current  in  the  town  he  should  be  glad  to 
learn  from  Ned  whether  there  was  any  foundation  foi 
them,  and  would  therefore  be  obliged  if  he  would  call  at 
eight  o'clock  that  evening.  His  colleague,  Mr.  Sim- 
monds,  would  be  present. 

Ned  gave  an  exclamation  of  disgust  as  he  threw  down 
the  note. 

"Is  there  any  answer,  sir?"  the  servant  asked.  "The 
boy  said  he  was  to  wait." 

"Tell  him  to  say  to  Mr.  Thompson  that  I  will  be  there 
at  eight  o'glock;  but  that — no,  that  will  do.  It  wouldn't 
be  civil,"  he  said  to  Charlie  as  the  door  closed  behind 
the  servant,  "to  say  that  I  wish  to  goodness  he  would  let 
iny  affairs  alone  and  look  to  his  own." 

When  Ned  reached  the  magistrates  at  the  appointed 
hour  he  found  that  the  inquiry  was  of  a  formal  character. 
Besides  the  two  justices,  Major  Browne,  who  commanded 


THROUGH  THE  FRAY.  255 

the  troops  at  Marsden,  was  present;  and  the  justices' 
clerk  was  there  to  take  notes. 

Mr.  Simmonds  greeted  Ned  kindly,  Mr.  Thompson 
stiffly.  He  was  one  of  those  who  had  from  the  first  been 
absolutely  convinced  that  the  lad  had  killed  his  step- 
father. The  officer,  who  was  of  course  acquainted  with 
the  story,  examined  Ned  with  a  close  scrutiny. 

"Will  you  take  a  seat,  Ned?"  Mr.  Simmonds,  who  was 
the  senior  magistrate,  said.  "We  have  asked  you  here 
to  explain  to  us  the  meaning  of  certain  rumors  which  are 
current  in  the  town  of  an  attack  upon  your  mill." 

"I  will  answer  any  questions  that  you  may  ask,"  Ned 
said  quietly,  seating  himself,  while  the  magistrates'  clerk 
dipped  his  pen  in  the  ink  and  prepared  to  take  notes  of 
his  statement. 

"Is  it  the  case  that  the  Luddites  made  an  attack  upon 
your  mill  the  night  before  last?" 

"It  is  true,  sir." 

"Will  you  please  state  the  exact  circumstances." 

"There  is  not  much  to  tell,"  Ned  said  quietly.  "I 
have  for  some  time  been  expecting  an  attack,  having 
received  many  threatening  letters.  I  have,  therefore, 
made  a  habit  of  sleeping  in  the  mill,  and  a  month  ago  I 
got  in  twelve  barrels  of  powder  from  Huddersfield.  Be- 
fore going  to  bed  of  a  night  I  always  pile  these  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  where  the  looms  are,  which  is  the 
first  as  you  enter.  I  have  bells  attached  to  the  shutters 
and  doors  to  give  me  notice  of  any  attempt  to  enter. 
The  night  before  last  I  was  awoke  by  hearing  one  of 
them  ring,  and  looking  out  of  the  window  made  out  a 
crowd  of  two  or  three  hundred  men  outside.  They  be- 
.  gan  to  batter  the  door,  so,  taking  a  brace  of  pistols  which 
I  keep  in  readiness  by  my  bed,  I  went  down  and  took  my 
place  by  the  powder.  When  they  broke  down  the  door 
and  entered  I  just  told  them  that  if  they  came  any  fur- 


256  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  F. 

ther  I  should  fire  my  pistol  into  one  of  the  barrels,  the 
head  of  which  I  had  knocked  out,  and,  as  I  suppose  they 
saw  that  I  meant  to  do  it,  they  went  off.  That  is  all  I 
have  to  tell,  so  far  as  I  know." 

The  clerk's  pen  ran  swiftly  over  the  paper  as  Ned  qui- 
etly made  his  statement.  Then  there  was  a  silence  for  a 
minute  or  two. 

"And  did  you  really  mean  to  carry  out  your  threat, 
Mr.  Sankey?" 

"Certainly,"  Ned  said. 

"But  you  would,  of  course,  have  been  killed  yourself." 

"Naturally,"  Ned  said  dryly;  "but  that  would  have 
been  of  no  great  consequer  ce  to  me  or  any  one  else.  As 
the  country  was  lately  about  to  take  my  life  at  its  own  ex- 
pense it  would  not  greatly  disapprove  of  my  doing  so  at  my 
own,  especially  as  the  lesson  to  the  Luddites  would  have 
been  so  wholesale  a  one  that  the  services  of  the  troops  in 
this  part  of  the  country  might  have  been  dispensed  with 
for  some  time." 

"Did  you  recognize  any  of  the  men  concerned?" 

"I  am  glad  to  say  I  did  not,"  Ned  replied.  "Some  of 
them  were  masked.  The  others  were,  so  far  as  I  could 
see  among  such  a  crowd  of  faces  in  a  not  very  bright 
light,  all  strangers  to  me." 

"And  you  would  not  recognize  any  of  them  again  were 
you  to  see  them?" 

"I  should  not,"  Ned  replied.  "None  of  them  stood 
out  prominently  among  the  others." 

"You  speak,  Mr.  Sankey,"  Mr.  Thompson  said,  "as  if 
your  sympathies  were  rather  on  the  side  of  these  men, 
who  would  have  burned  your  mill,  and  probably  have 
murdered  you,  than  against  them." 

"I  do  not  sympathize  with  the  measures  the  men  are 
taking  to  obtain  redress  for  what  they  regard  as  a  griev- 
ance; but  I  do  sympathize  very  deeply  with  the  amount 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  257 

of  suffering  which  they  are  undergoing  from  the  intro- 
duction of  machinery  and  the  high  prices  of  provisions; 
and  I  am  not  surprised  that,  desperate  as  they  are,  and 
ignorant  as  they  are,  they  should  be  led  astray  by  bad 
advice.  Is  there  any  other  question  that  you  wish  to 
ask  me?" 

"Nothing  at  present,  I  think,"  Mr.  Simmonds  said 
after  consulting  his  colleague  by  a  look.  "We  shall,  of 
course,  for  ,vam  a  report  ol  tne  affair  to  the  proper  au- 
thorities, and  I  may  say  that  although  you  appear  to  take 
it  in  a  very  quiet  and  matter-of-fact  way,  you  have  evi- 
dently behaved  with  very  great  courage  and  coolness, 
and  in  a  manner  most  creditable  to  yourself.  I  think, 
however,  that  you  ought  immediately  to  have  made  a 
report  to  us  of  the  circumstances,  in  order  trut  we  might 
at  once  have  determined  what  steps  should  be  taken  for 
the  pursuit  and  apprehension  of  the  rioters." 

Ned  made  no  reply,  but  rising,  bowed  slightly  to  the 
three  gentlemen  and  walked  quietly  from  the  room. 

"A  singular  young  fellow!"  Major  Browne  remarked 
as  the  door  closed  behind  him.  "I  don't  quite  know 
what  to  make  of  him,  but  I  don't  think  he  could  have 
committed  that  murder.  It  was  a  cowardly  business^ 
and  although  I  believe  he  might  have  a  hand  in  any  des- 
perate affair,  as  indeed  this  story  he  has  just  told  us 
shows,  I  would  lay  my  life  he  would  not  do  a  cowardly 
one."  » 

"I  agree  with  you,"  Mr.  Simmonds  said,  "though  I 
own  that  I  have  never  been  quite  able  to  rid  Myself  of  a 
vague  suspicion  that  he  was  guilty." 

"And  I  believe  he  is  so  still,"  Mr.  Thompson  said. 
"To  me  there  is  something  almost  devilish  about  that 
lad's  manner." 

*'His  manner  was  pleasant  enough,"  Mr.  Simmonds 
eaid  warmly,  "before  that  affair  of  Mulready.  He  was 


258  THROUGH  THE  FHAT. 

as  nice  a  lad  as  yon  would  wish  to  see  till  his  mother  wan 
fool  enough  to  get  engaged  to  that  man,  who,  by  the 
way,  I  neva?  liked.  No  wonder  his  manner  is  queer  now; 
so  would  yours  be,  or  mine,  if  we  were  tried  for  murder 
arid,  though  acquitted,  knew  there  was  still  a  general  im- 
pression of  our  guilt." 

"Yes,  by  Jove,"  the  officer  said,  "I  should  be  inclined 
to  shoot  myself.  You  are  wrong,  Mr.  Thompson,  take 
my  word  for  it.  That  young  fellow  never  committed  a 
cowardly  murder.  I  think  you  told  me,  Mr.  Simmonds, 
that  he  had  intended  to  go  into  the  army  had  it  not  beer 
for  this  affair?  Well,  his  majesty  has  lost  a  good  officer, 
for  that  is  just  the  sort  of  fellow  who  would  lead  a  for- 
lorn hope  though  fee  knew  the  breach  was  mined  in  a 
dozen  places.  It  is  a  pity*  a  terrible  pity!" 


THROUGH 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

WED     IS     ATTACKED, 

As  Ned  had  foreseen  and  resented,  the  affair  at  the 
again  made  him  the  chief  topic  of  talk  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, and  the  question  of  his  guilt  or  innocence  ol 
the  murder  of  his  stepfather  was  again  debated  with  as 
much  earnestness  as  it  had  been  when  the  murder  was 
first  committed.  There  was  this  difference,  however, 
that  "whereas  before  he  had  found  but  few  defenders,  for 
the  impression  that  he  was  guilty  was  almost  universal, 
there  were  now  many  who  took  the  other  view. 

The  one  fide  argued  that  a  lad  who  was  ready  to  blow 
himself  and  two  or  three  hundred  men  into  the  air  was 
so  desperate  a  character  that  he  would  not  have  been 
likely  to  hesitate  a  moment  in  taking  the  life  of  a  man 
whom  he  hated,  and  who  had  certainly  ill-treated  him. 
The  other  side  insisted  that  one  with  so  much  cool  cour- 
age would  not  have  committed  a  murder  in  so  cowardly 
a  way  as  by  tying  a  rope  across  the  road  which  his  enemy 
had  to  traverse.  One  party  characterized  his  conduct  at 
the  mill  as  that  of  the  captain  of  a  pirate  ship,  the  other 
likened  it  to  any  of  the  great  deeds  of  devotion  told  in 
history — the  death  of  Leonidas  and  his  three  hundred, 
or  the  devotion  of  Mutius  Scaevola. 

Had  Ned  chosen  now  he  might  have  gathered  round 
himself  a  strong  party  of  warm  adherents,  for  there  were 
many  who,  had  they  had  the  least  encouragement,  -would 
have  been  glad  to  shake  him  by  the  hand  and  to  show 


260  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  F 

their  partisanship  openly  and  warmly;  but  Ned  did  not 
choose.  The  doctor  and  Mr.  Porson  strongly  urged 
upon  him  that  he  should  show  some  sort  of  willingness 
to  meet  the  advances  which  many  were  anxious  to  make. 

"These  people  are  all  willing  to  admit  that  they  have 
been  wrong,  Ned,  and  really  anxious  to  atone  as  far  as 
they  can  for  their  mistake  in  assuming  that  you  were 
guilty.  Now  is  your  time,  my  boy;  what  they  believe 
to-day  others  will  believe  to-morrow;  it  is  the  first  step 
toward  living  it  down.  I  always  said  it  would  come,  but 
I  hardly  ventured  to  hope  that  it  would- come  so  soon." 

"I  can't  do  it,  Mr.  Porson;  I  would  if  I  could,  if  only 
for  the  sake  of  the  others;  but  I  can't  talk,  and  smile^ 
and  look  pleasant.  When  a  man  knows  that  his  mother 
lying  at  home  thinks  that  he  is  a  murderer  how  is  lie  to 
go  about  like  other  people?" 

"But  I  have  told  you  over  and  over  again,  Ned,  that 
your  mother  is  hardly  responsible  for  her  actions.  She 
has  never  been  a  very  reasonable  being,  and  is  less  so 
than  ever  at  present.  Make  an  effort,  my  boy,  and  mix 
with  others.  Show  yourself  at  the  cricket-match  next 
week.  You  know  the  boys  are  all  your  firm  champions, 
and  I  warrant  that  half  the  people  there  will  flock  round 
you  and  make  much  of  you  if  you  will  but  give  them  tha 
chance." 

But  Ned  could  not,  and  did  not,  but  went  on  his  way 
as  before,  living  as  if  Marsden  had  no  existence  for  him, 
intent  upon  his  work  at  the  mill,  and  unbending  only 
when  at  home  with  his  brother  and  sister. 

His  new  friend,  Cartwright,  was,  of  course,  one  of  the 
first  to  congratulate  him  on  the  escape  the  mill  had  had 
of  destruction. 

"I  was  wondering  what  you  would  do  if  they  came," 
he  said,  "and  was  inclined  to  think  you  were  a  fool  for 
not  following  my  example  and  having  some  of  your  hands 


THROUGH  THE  FRAY.  251 

to  sleep  at  the  mill.  Your  plan  was  best,  I  am  ready  to 
allow;  that  is  to  say,  it  was  best  for  any  one  who  wiii 
ready  to  carry  out  his  threat  if  driven  to  it.  I  shouldn't 
be,  I  tell  you  fairly.  If  the  mill  is  attacked  I  shall  fight 
and  shall  take  rny  chance  of  being  shot,  but  I  could  not 
blow  myself  up  in  cold  blood." 

"I  don't  suppose  I  could  have  done  so  either  in  the 
old  times,"  Ned  said  with  a  faint  smile.  "My  blood  used 
to  be  hot  enough,  a  good  deal  too  hot,  but  I  don't  think 
anything  could  get  it  up  to  boiling  point  now,  so  you  see 
if  this  thing  had  to  be  done  at  all  it  must  have  been  in 
cold  blood." 

"By  the  way,  Sankey,  I  wish  you  would  come  over  one 
day  next  week  and  dine  with  me;  ^here  will  be  no  one 
else  there  except  my  daughter." 

Ned  hastily  muttered  an  excuse. 

"Oh,  that  is  all  nonsense!"  Mr.  Cartwright  said  good- 
humoredly;  "you  are  not  afraid  of  me,  and  you  needn't 
be  afraid  of  my  daughter.  She  is  only  a  child  of  fifteen, 
and  of  course  takes  you  at  my  estimate,  and  is  disposed 
to  regard  you  as  a  remarkable  mixture  of  the  martyr  and 
the  hero,  and  to  admire  you  accordingly.  Pooh,  pooh, 
lad!  you  can't  be  living  like  a  hermit  all  your  life;  and 
at  any  rate  if  you  make  up  your  mind  to  have  but  a  few 
friends  you  must  be  all  the  closer  and  more  intimate  with 
them.  I  know  you  dine  with  Person  and  Green,  and  I 
am  not  going  to  let  you  keep  me  at  arm's-length;  you 
must  come,  or  else  I  shall  be  seriously  offended." 

So  Ned  had  no  resource  left  him,  and  had  to  consent 
to  dine  at  Liversedge.  Once  there  he  often  repeated  the 
visit.  "With  the  kind  and  hearty  manufacturer  he  was 
perfectly  at  home,  and  although  at  first  he  was  uncom- 
fortable with  his  daughter  he  gradually  became  at  his 
ease  with  her,  especially  after  she  had  driven  over  with 
her  father  to  make  friends  with  Lucy,  and,  again,  a  short 


THROUGH  TEE  PRAT. 

time  afterward,  to  carry  her  away  for  a  week's  visit  at 
Liversedge.  For  this  Ned  was  really  grateful.  Lucy's 
life  had  been  a  very  dull  one.  She  had  no  friends  of  hei 
own  age  in  Marsden,  for  naturally  at  the  time  of  Mr. 
Mulready's  death  all  intimacy  with  the  few  acquaintances 
they  had  in  the  place  had  been  broken  off,  for  few  cared 
that  their  children  should  associate  with  a  family  among 
whom  such  a  terrible  tragedy  had  taken  place. 

Charlie  was  better  off,  for  he  had  his  friends  at  school, 
and  the  boys  at  Person's  believed  in  Ned's  innocence  as 
a  point  of  honor.  In  the  first  place,  it  would  have  been 
something  like  a  reflection  upon  the  whole  school  to  ad- 
mit the  possibility  of  its  first  boy  being  a  murderer;  in 
the  second,  Ned  had  been  generally  popular  among  them, 
he  was  their  best  cricketer,  the  life  and  soul  of  all  theii' 
games,  never  bullying  himself  and  putting  down  all  bul- 
lying among  others  with  a  strong  hand.  Their  cham- 
pionship showed  itself  in  the  shape  of  friendship  for 
Charlie;  and  at  the  midsummer  following  Mr.  Mulready's 
death  he  had  received  invitations  from  many  of  them  to 
stay  with  them  during  the  holidays,  and  had  indeed  spent 
that  time  on  a  series  of  short  visits  among  them. 

He  himself  would,  had  he  had  his  choice,  have  re- 
mained at  home  with  Ned,  for  he  knew  how  lonely  his 
brother's  life  was,  and  that  his  only  pleasure  consisted  in 
the  quiet  evenings;  but  Ned  would  not  hear  of  it, 

"You  must  go,  Charlie,  both  for  your  sake  and  my 
own.  The  change  will  do  you  good;  and  if  you  were  to 
stop  at  home  and  refuse  to  go  out  people  would  say  that 
you  were  ashamed  to  be  seen,  and  that  you  were  crushed 
down  with  the  weight  of  my  guilt.  You  have  got  to 
keep  up  the  honor  of  the  family  now,  Charlie;  I  have 
proved  a  failure." 

It  was  September  now,  and  six  months  had  elapsed 
since  the  death  of  Mr.  Mulready.  The  getting  in  of  tho 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  263 

harvest  had  made  no  difference  in  the  price  of  food,  tne 
general  distress  was  as  great  as  ever,  and  the  people 
shook  their  heads  and  said  that  there  would  be  bad  doings 
when  the  winter  with  its  long  nights  was  at  hand. 

The  mill  was  flourishing  under  its  new  management. 
TI~e  goods  turned  out  by  the  new  machinery  were  of  ex- 
cellent quality  and  finish,  and  Ned  had  more  orders  on 
hand  than  he  could  execute.  The  profits  were  large,  the 
hands  well  paid  and  contented.  Ned  had  begged  Dr. 
Green  and  the  other  trustees  of  his  mother's  property  to 
allow  him  to  devote  a  considerable  part  of  the  profits  to 
assist,  during  the  hard  time  of  winter,  the  numerous 
hands  in  Varley  and  other  villages  round  Marsden  who 
were  out  of  employment;  but  the  trustees  said  they  were 
unable  to  permit  this.  Mrs.  Mulready  absolutely  refused 
to  hear  anything  about  the  mill  or  to  discuss  any  ques- 
tions connected  with  money,  therefore  they  had  no 
resource  but  to  allow  the  profits,  after  deducting  all  ex- 
pects of  living,  to  accumulate  until,  at  any  rate,  Lucy, 
the  youngest  of  the  children,  came  of  age. 

Ned,  however,  was  not  to  be  easily  thwarted,  and  he 
quietly  reverted  to  the  old  method  of  giving  out  a  large 
quantity  of  work  to  the  men  to  be  performed  by  the 
hand-looms  in  their  own  cottages,  while  still  keeping  his 
new  machinery  fully  employed.  There  was,  indeed,  a 
clear  loss  upon  every  yard  of  cloth  so  made,  as  it  had,  of 
course,  to  be  sold  at  the  lower  prices  which  machinery 
had  brought  about;  still  the  profits  from  the  mill  itself 
were  large  enough  to  bear  the  drain,  and  means  of  sup- 
port would  be  given  to  a  large  number  of  families 
throughout  the  winter.  Ned  told  Dr.  Green  what  he 
had  done. 

"You  see,  doctor,"  he  said,  "this  is  altogether  beyond 
your  province.  You  and  Mr.  Lovejoy  appointed  me,  as 
the  senior  representative  of  the  family,  to  manage  th« 


264  THRO  UGH  THE  Fit  A  Y. 

mill.  Of  course  I  can  manage  it  in  my  o\vn  way,  and  at 
long  as  the  profits  are  sufficient  to  keep  us  in  the  position 
we  have  hitherto  occupied  I  don't  see  that  you  have  any 
reason  to  grumble." 

"You  are  as  obstinate  as  a  mule,  Ned,"  the  doctor  said, 
smiling;  "but  I  am  glad  enough  to  let  you  have  your 
way  so  long  as  it  is  not  clearly  my  duty  to  thwart  you; 
and  indeed  I  don't  know  how  those  poor  people  at  Varley 
and  at  some  of  the  other  villages  would  get  through  the 
winter  without  some  such  help." 

"I  am  very  glad  I  hit  upon  the  plan.  I  got  Luke 
Marner  to  draw  up  a  list  of  all  the  men  who  had  families 
depending  upon  them;  but  indeed  I  find  that  I  have  been 
able  to  set  pretty  nearly  all  the  looms  in  the  neighbor- 
hood at  work,  and  of  course  that  will  give  employment 
to  the  spinners  and  croppers.  I  have  made  a  close  cal- 
culation, and  find  that  with  the  profit  the  mill  is  making 
1  shall  just  be  able  to  clear  our  household  expenses  this 
winter,  after  selling  at  a  loss  all  the  cloth  that  can  be 
made  in  the  looms  round." 

"At  any  rate,  Ned,"  the  doctor  said,  "your  plan  will 
be  a  relief  to  me  in  one  way.  Hitherto  I  have  never 
gone  to  bed  at  night  without  an  expectation  of  being 
awakened  with  the  news  that  you  have  been  shot  on  your 
way  out  to  the  mill  at  night.  The  fellows  you  frightened 
away  last  month  must  have  a  strong  grudge  against  you 
in  addition  to  their  enmity  against  you  as  an  employer. 
You  will  be  safe  enough  in  future,  and  can  leave  the  mill 
to  take  care  of  itself  at  night  if  you  like.  You  will  have 
the  blessings  of  all  the  poor  fellows  in  the  neighborhood, 
and  may  henceforth  go  where  you  will  by  night  or  day 
without  the  slightest  risk  of  danger." 

"You  are  right,  no  doubt,"  Ned  said,  "though  that 
did  not  enter  my  mind.  When  I  took  the  step  my  only 
fear  was  that  by  helping  them  for  a  time  I  might  be  IB 


THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  T.  265 

Juring  them  in  the  future.  Hand-weaving,  spinning,  and 
cropping  are  doomed.  Nothing  can  save  them,  and  the 
sooner  the  men  learn  this  and  take  to  other  means  of 
gaining  a  livelihood  the  better.  Still  the  prices  that  I 
can  give  are  of  course  very  low,  just  enough  to  keep  them 
from  starvation,  and  we  must  hope  that  ere  long  new 
mills  will  be  erected  in  which  the  present  hand-workers 
will  gradually  find  employment." 

Hardly  less  warm  than  the  satisfaction  that  the  an- 
nouncement that  Sankey  was  about  to  give  out  work  to 
all  the  hand-looms  excited  in  the  villages  round  Marsden, 
was  that  which  Abijah  felt  at  the  news. 

Hitherto  she  had  kept  to  herself  the  disapprobation 
which  she  felt  at  Ned's  using  the  new  machinery.  She 
had  seen  in  her  own  village  the  sufferings  that  had  been 
caused  by  the  change,  and  her  sympathies  were  wholly 
with  the  Luddites,  except  of  course  when  they  attempted 
anything  against  the  life  and  property  of  her  boy.  Strong 
la  the  prejudices  of  the  class  among  whom  she  had  been 
born  and  reared,  she  looked  upon  the  new  machinery  as 
an  invention  of  the  evil  one  to  ruin  the  working-classes, 
and  had  been  deeply  grieved  at  Ned's  adoption  of  its  use. 
Nothing  but  the  trouble  in  which  he  was  could  have 
compelled  her  to  keep  her  opinion  on  the  subject  to 
herself. 

"I  am  main  glad,  Maister  Ned.  I  b'lieve  now  as  we 
may  find  out  about  that  other  affair.  I  never  had  no 
hope  before,  it  warn't  likely  as  things  would  come  about 
as  you  wanted,  when  you  was  a-flying  in  the  face  of  prov- 
idence by  driving  poor  folks  to  starvation  with  them 
noisy  engines  of  yours;  it  warn't  likely,  and  I  felt  as  it 
was  wrong  to  hope  for  it.  I  said  my  prayers  every  night, 
but  it  wasn't  reasonable  to  expect  a  answer  as  long  as 
Chat  mill  was  a-grinding  men  to  powder." 

"I  don't  think  it  was  as  bad  as  all  that,  Abijah.    In 


266  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  7. 

another  ten  years  there  will  be  twice  as  many  hands  em- 
ployed as  ever  there  were,  and  there  is  no  saying  how 
large  the  trade  may  not  grow.'* 

Abijah  shook  her  head  as  if  to  imply  her  belief  that  an 
enlargement  of  trade  by  means  of  these  new  machines 
would  be  clearly  flying  in  the  face  of  providence.  How- 
ever she  was  too  pleased  at  the  news  that  hand-work  was 
to  be  resumed  in  the  district  to  care  about  arguing  the 
question.  Even  the  invalid  upstairs  took  a  feeble  inter- 
est in  the  matter  when  Abijah  told  her  that  Master 
Ned  had  arranged  to  give  work  to  scores  of  starving  peo- 
ple through  the  winter. 

As  a  rule  Abijah  never  mentioned  his  name  to  her 
mistress,  for  it  was  always  the  signal  for  a  flood  of  tears, 
and  caused  an  excitement  and  agitation  which  did  not 
calm  down  for  hours;  but  lately  she  had  noticed  that  her 
mistress  began  to  take  a  greater  interest  in  the  details 
she  gave  her  of  what  was  passing  outside.  She  spoke 
more  cheerfully  when  Lucy  brought  in  her  work  and  sat 
by  her  bedside,  and  she  had  even  exerted  herself  suffi- 
ciently to  get  up  two  or  three  times  and  lie  upon  the  sofa 
in  her  room.  It  was  Charlie  who,  full  of  the  news,  had 
rushed  in  to  tell  her  about  Ned's  defense  at  the  mill. 
She  had  made  no  comment  whatever,  but  her  face  had 
flushed  and  her  lips  trembled,  and  she  had  been  very 
silent  and  quiet  all  that  day.  Altogether  Abijah  thought 
that  she  was  mending,  and  Dr.  Green  was  of  the  same 
opinion. 

Although  the  setting  to  work  of  the  hand-looms  and 
spindles  relieved  the  dire  pressure  of  want  immediately 
about  Marsden,  in  other  parts  things  were  worse  than 
ever  that  winter,  and  the  military  were  kept  busy  by  the 
many  threatening  letters  which  were  received  by  the 
mill-owners  from  King  Lud. 

One  day  Mr.  Cartwrirht  entered  Ned's  office  at  tha 
mill. 


THR 6  UGH  THE  FRA  ¥.  867 

""'Have  you  heard  the  news,  Sankey?" 

"No,  I  have  heard  no  news  in  particular." 

"Horsfall  has  been  shot/' 

"You  don't  say  so!"  Ned  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  he  has  been  threatened  again  and  again.  He 
was  over  at  Huddersfield  yesterday  afternoon;  he  started 
from  the  'George'  on  his  way  back  at  half-past  five.  It 
seems  that  his  friend  Eastwood,  of  Slaithwaite,  knowing 
how  often  his  life  had  been  threatened,  offered  to  ride 
back  with  him,  and  though  Horsfall  laughed  at  the  oSer 
and  rode  off  alone,  Eastwood  had  his  horse  saddled  and 
rode  after  him,  but  unfortunately  did  not  overtake  him. 

"About  six  o'clock  Horsfall  pulled  up  his  horse  at  the 
Warren-house  Inn  at  Crossland  Moor.  There  he  gave  a 
glass  of  liquor  to  two  of  his  old  work-people  who  hap- 
pened to  be  outside,  drank  a  glass  of  rum  and  water  as 
he  sat  in  the  saddle,  and  then  rode  off.  A  farmer  named 
Parr  was  riding  about  a  hundred  and  fifty  yards  behind 
him.  As  Horsfall  came  abreast  of  a  plantation  Parr  no- 
ticed four  men  stooping  behind  a  wall,  and  then  saw  two 
puffs  of  smoke  shoot  out.  Horsfall's  horse  started  round 
at  the  flash,  and  he  fell  forward  on  his  saddle. 

"Parr  galloped  up,  and  jumping  off  caught  him  as  he 
was  falling.  Horsfall  could  just  say  who  he  was  and  ask 
to  be  taken  to  his  brother's  house,  which  was  near  at 
hand.  There  were  lots  of  people  in  the  road,  for  it  was 
market  day  in  Huddersfield,  you  know,  and  the  folks 
•were  on  their  way  home,  so  he  was  soon  put  in  a  cart  and 
taken  back  to  the  Warren-house.  It  was  found  that  both 
balls  had  struck  him,  one  in  the  right  side  and  one  in 
the  left  thigh.  I  hear  he  is  still  alive  this  morning,  but 
cannot  live  out  the  day." 

"That  is  a  bad  business  indeed,"  Ned  said. 

"It  is  indeed.  Horsfall  was  a  fine,  generous,  high- 
spirited  fellow,  but  he  was  specially  obnoxious  to  the 


268  THROUGH  THE  FRAY. 

Luddites,  whose  doings  he  was  always  denouncing  in  the 
most  violent  way.  Whose  turn  will  it  be  next,  I  wonder? 
The  success  of  this  attempt  is  sure  to  encourage  them, 
and  we  may  expect  to  hear  of  some  more  bad  doings.  Of 
course  there  will  be  a  reward  offered  for  the  apprehen- 
sion of  the  murderers.  A  laborer  saw  them  as  they  wero 
hurrying  away  from  the  plantation,  and  says  he  should 
know  them  again  if  he  saw  them;  but  these  fellows  hang 
together  so  that  I  doubt  if  we  shall  ever  find  them  out." 

After  Mr.  Cartwright  had  gone  Ned  told  Luke  what 
had  happened.  "I  hope,  Luke,  that  none  of  the  Varley 
people  have  had  a  hand  in  this  business?" 

"Oi  hoape  not,"  Luke  said  slowly,  "but  ther  hain't  no 
saying;  oi  hears  little  enough  of  what  be  going  on.  Oi 
was  never  much  in  the  way  of  hearing,  but  now  as  I  am 
head  of  the  room,  and  all  the  hands  here  are  known  to 
be  well  contented,  oi  hears  less  nor  ever.  Still  matters 
get  talked  over  at  the  'Cow.'  Oi  hears  it  said  as  many 
of  the  lads  in  the  village  has  been  wishing  to  leave  King 
Lud  since  the  work  was  put  out,  but  they  have  had  mes- 
sages as  hew  any  man  turning  traitor  would  be  put  out 
of  the  way.  It's  been  somewhat  like  that  from  the  first, 
and  more  nor  half  of  them  as  has  joined  has  done  so  be- 
cause they  was  afeared  to  stand  out.  They  ain't  tried  to 
put  the  screw  on  us  old  hands,  but  most  of  the  young 
uns  has  been  forced  into  joining. 

"Bill  has  had  a  hard  toime  of  it  to  stand  out.  He  has 
partly  managed  because  of  his  saying  as  how  he  has  been 
gich  good  friends  with  you  that  he  could  not  join  to  take 
part  against  the  maisters;  part,  as  oi  hears,  because  his 
two  brothers,  who  been  in  the  thick  of  it  from  the  first, 
has  stuck  up  agin  Bill  being  forced  into  it.  Oi  wish  as 
we  could  get  that  blacksmith  out  of  t'  village;  he  be  at 
the  bottom  of  it  all,  and  there's  nowt  would  please  me  . 
more  than  to  hear  as  the  constables  had  laid  their  hands 


THRO  UGH  THE  FBA  T  269 

on  him.  Oi  hear  as  how  he  is  more  violent  than  ever  at 
that  meeting-house.  Of  course  he  never  mentions  names 
or  says  anything  direct,  but  he  holds  forth  agin  traitors 
as  falls  away  after  putting  their  hands  to  the  plow,  and 
as  forsakes  the  cause  of  their  starving  brethren  because 
their  own  stomachs  is  full." 

"I  wish  we  could  stop  him,"  Ned  said  thoughtfully. 
"I  might  get  a  constable  sent  up  to  be  present  at  the 
meetings,  but  the  constables  here  are  too  well  known, 
and  if  you  were  to  get  one  from  another  place  the  sight 
of  a  stranger  there  would  be  so  unusual  that  it  would 
put  him  on  his  guard  at  once.  Besides,  as  you  say,  it 
would  be  very  difficult  to  prove  that  his  expressions  ap- 
plied to  the  Luddites,  although  every  one  may  under- 
stand what  he  means.  One  must  have  clear  evidence  in 
such  a  case.  However,  I  hope  we  shall  catch  him  trip- 
ping one  of  these  days.  These  are  the  fellows  who  ought 
to  be  punished,  not  the  poor  ignorant  men  who  are  led 
away  by  them." 

The  feeling  of  gratitude  and  respect  with  which  Ned 
was  regarded  by  the  workpeople  of  his  district,  owing  to 
his  action  regarding  the  hand-frames,  did  something  to- 
ward lightening  the  load  caused  by  the  suspicion  which 
still  rested  upon  him.  Although  he  still  avoided  all  in- 
tercourse with  those  of  his  own  station,  he  no  longer  felt 
the  pressure  so  acutely.  The  hard,  set  expression  of  his 
face  softened  somewhat,  and  though  he  was  still  strangely 
quiet  and  reserved  in  his  manner  toward  those  with  whom 
his  business  necessarily  brought  him  in  contact,  he  no 
longer  felt  absolutely  cut  off  from  the  rest  of  his  kind. 

Ned  had  continued  his  practice  of  occasionally  walking 

*  up  with  Bill  Swinton  to  Varley  on  his  way  to  the  mill. 

There  was  now  little  fear  of  an  attempt  upon  his  life  by 

the  hands  in  his  neighborhood;  but  since  the  failure  on 

the  mill  he  had  incurred  the  special  enmity  of  the  men 


270  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  Y. 

who  had  come  from  a  distance  on  that  occasion,  and  ho 
knew  that  any  night  he  might  be  waylaid  and  shot  by 
them.  It  was  therefore  safer  to  go  round  by  Varley  than 
by  the  direct  road.  One  evening  when  he  had  been  chat- 
ting rather  later  than  usual  at  Luke  Marner's,  Luke  said: 

"Oi  think  there's  something  i'  t'  wind.  Oi  heerd  at 
t'  Cow  this  evening  that  there  are  some  straangers  i'  the 
village.  They're  at  t'  Dog.  Oi  thinks  there's  soom 
sort  ov  a  council  there.  Oi  heers  as  they  be  from  Hud- 
dersfield,  which  be  the  headquarters  o'  General  Lud  in 
this  part.  However,  maister,  oi  doan't  think  as  there's 
any  fear  of  another  attack  on  thy  mill;  they  war  too 
badly  scaared  t'other  noight  vor  to  try  that  again." 

When  Ned  got  up  to  go  Bill  Swinton  as  usual  put  on 
his  cap  to  accompany  him,  as  he  always  walked  across 
the  moor  with  him  until  they  came  to  the  path  leading 
down  to  the  back  of  the  mill,  this  being  the  road  taken 
by  the  hands  from  Varley  coming  and  going  from  work. 
When  they  had  started  a  minute  or  two  George,  who  had 
been  sitting  by  the  fire  listening  to  the  talk,  got  up  and 
stretched  himself  preparatory  to  going  to  bed,  and  said 
in  his  usual  slow  way: 

"Oi  wonders  what  they  be  a-doing  to-noight.  Twice 
•while  ye  ha'  been  a-talking  oi  ha'  seen  a  chap  a-looking 
in  at  t'  window " 

"Thou  hast!"  Luke  exclaimed,  starting  up.  "Dang 
thee,  thou  young  fool!  Why  didn't  say  so  afore?  Oi 
will  hoide  thee  when  oi  comes  back  rarely!  Polly,  do 
thou  run  into  Gardiner's,  and  Hoskings',  and  Burt's; 
tell  'em  to  cotch  up  a  stick  and  to  roon  for  their  loives 
across  t'  moor  toward  t'  mill.  And  do  thou,  Jarge,  roon 
into  Sykes'  and  Wilmot's  and  tell  'em  the  same;  and  be 
quick  if  thou  would  save  thy  skin.  Tell  'em  t'  maister 
be  loike  to  be  attacked." 

Catching  up  a  heavy  stick  Luke  hurried  off,  running 


THRO  UGH  TEE  FEA  7.  2*1 

into  two  cottages  near  and  bringing  on  two  more  of  the 
mill  hands  with  him.  He  was  nearly  across  the  moor 
when  they  heard  the  sound  of  a  shot.  Luke,  who  was 
running  at  the  top  of  his  speed,  gave  a  hoarse  cry  as  of 
one  who  had  received  a  mortal  wound.  Two  shots  fol- 
lowed in  quick  succession.  A  minute  later  Luke  was 
dashing  down  the  hollow  through  which  the  path  ran 
down  from  the  moor.  Now  he  made  out  a  group  of 
moving  figures  and  heard  the  sounds  of  conflict.  -His 
breath  was  coming  in  short  gasps,  his  teeth  were  set;  fast 
as  he  was  running,  he  groaned  that  his  limbs  would  carry 
him  no  faster.  It  v/as  scarce  two  minutes  from  the  time 
when  the  first  shot  was  fired,  but  it  seemed  ages  to  him 
before  he  dashed  into  the  group  of  men,  knocking  down 
two  by  the  impetus  of  his  rush.  He  was  but  just  in 
time.  A  figure  lay  prostrate  on  the  turf;  another  stand- 
ing over  him  had  just  been  beaten  to  his  knee.  But  he 
sprang  up  again  at  Luke's  onward  rush.  Eis  assailants 
for  a  moment  drew  back. 

"Thou'rt  joist  in  toime,  Luke,"  Bill  panted  out.  "Oi 
war  well-nigh  done." 

"Be  t'  maister  shot?" 

"No,  nowt  but  a  clip  wij  a  stick." 

As  the  words  passed  between  them  the  assailants  again 
rushed  forward  with  curses  and  execrations  upon  those 
who  stood  between  them  and  their  victim. 

"Moind,  Luke,  they  ha'  gotknoives!"  Bill  exclaimed. 
U0i  ha'  got  more  nor  one  slash  already." 

Luke  and  Bill  fought  vigorously,  but  they  were  over- 
matched. Anger  and  fear  for  Ned's  safety  nerved  Luke's 
arm,  the  weight  of  the  last  twenty  years  seemed  to  drop 
off  him,  and  he  felt  himself  again  the  sturdy  young  crop- 
per who  could  hold  his  own  against  any  in  the  village. 
But  he  had  not  yet  got  back  his  breath,  and  was  panting 
heavily.  The  assailants,  six  in  number,  were  active 


272  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

vigorous  young  men;  and  Bill,  who  was  streaming  with 
blood  from  several  wounds,  could  only  fight  on  the  de« 
fensive.  Luke  then  gave  a  short  cry  of  relief  as  the  two 
ren  who  had  started  with  him,  but  whom  he  had  left 
^hind  from  the  speed  which  his  intense  eagerness  had 
5riven  him,  ran  up  but  a  short  minute  after  he  had  him- 
self arrived  and  ranged  themselves  by  him.  The  assail- 
ants hesitated  now. 

"Ye'd  best  be  off,"  Luke  said;  "there  ull  be  a  score 
more  here  in  a  minute." 

With  oaths  of  disappointment  and  rage  the  assailants 
fell  back  and  were  about  to  make  off  when  one  of  them 
exclaimed: 

"Ye  must  carry  Tom  off  wi'  thee.  It  ull  never  do  to 
let  un  lay  here." 

The  men  gathered  round  a  dark  figure  lying  a  few  yards 
away.  Four  of  them  lifted  it  by  the  hands  and  feet,  and 
then  they  hurried  away  across  the  moor.  As  they  did  so 
Bill  Swinton  with  a  sigh  fell  across  Ned's  body. 

In  two  or  three  minutes  four  more  men,  accompanied 
by  George  and  Polly,  whose  anxiety  would  not  let  her 
stay  behind,  hurried  up.  Luke  and  his  companions  had 
raised  Ned  and  Bill  into  a  sitting  posture. 

"Are  they  killed,  feyther?"  Polly  cried  as  she  ran  up 
breathless  to  them. 

"Noa,  lass;  oi  think  as  t'  maister  be  only  stunned,  and 
Bill  ha'  fainted  from  loss  o'  blood.  But  oi  doan't  know 
how  bad  he  be  hurted  yet.  We  had  best  carry  'em  back 
to  t'  house;  we  can't  see  to  do  nowt  here." 

"Best  let  them  stay  here,  feyther,  till  we  can  stop  the 
bleeding.  Moving  would  set  the  wounds  off  worse." 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,  Polly.  Jarge,  do  thou  run 
back  to  t'  house  as  hard  as  thou  canst  go.  Loight  t* 
lanterns  and  bring  'em  along,  wi'  a  can  o'  cold  water." 

Although  the  boy  ran  to  the  village  and  back  at  the 


THRO  VOH  THE  FRA  T.  278 

top  of  his  speed  the  time  seemed  long  indeed  to  those 
who  were  waiting.  When  he  returned  they  set  to  work 
at  once  to  examine  the  injuries.  Ned  appeared  to  have 
received  but  one  blow.  The  blood  was  slowly  welling 
from  a  wound  at  the  back  of  his  head. 

"That  war  maade  by  a  leaded  stick,  oi  guess,"  Luke 
said;  "it's  cut  through  his  hat,  and  must  pretty  nigh  ha' 
cracked  his  skool.  One  of  you  bathe  un  wi'  the  water 
while  we  looks  arter  Bill." 

Polly  gave  an  exclamation  of  horror  as  the  light  fell 
upon  Bill  Swinton.  He  was  covered  with  blood.  A 
clean  cut  extended  from  the  top  of  the  ear  to  the  point 
of  the  chin,  another  from  the  laf  t  shoulder  to  the  breast, 
while  a  third  gash  behind  had  cut  through  to  the  bone 
of  the  shoulder-blade. 

"Never  moind  t'  water,  lass,"  Luke  said  as  Polly  with 
trembling  hands  was  about  to  wash  the  blood  from  the 
cut  on  the  face,  "the  bluid  won't  do  un  no  harm — thou 
must  stop  t'  bleeding." 

Polly  tore  three  or  four  long  strips  from  the  bottom  of 
her  dress.  While  she  was  doing  so  one  of  the  men  by 
Luke's  directions  took  the  lantern  and  gathered  some 
short  dry  moss  from  the  side  of  the  slope,  and  laid  it  in 
a  ridge  on  tho  gaping  wound.  Then  Luke  with  Polly's 
assistance  tightly  bandaged  Bill's  head,  winding  the 
strips  from  the  back  of  the  head  round  to  the  chin,  and 
again  across  the  temples  and  jaw.  Luke  took  out  his 
knife  and  cut  off  the  coat  and  shirt  from  the  arms  and 
,  shoulder,  and  in  the  same  way  bandaged  up  the  other 
two  wounds.  After  George  hud  started  to  fetch  the 
lantern,  Luke  had  at  Polly's  suggestion  sent  two  men 
back  to  the  village,  and  these  'had  now  returned  with 
doors  they  had  taken  off  the  hinges.  When  Bill's 
wounds  were  bandaged  he  and  Ned  were  placed  on  the 
doors,  Ned  giving  a  faint  groan  as  he  was  moved. 


-       THROUGH  THE  FRAT. 

"That's  roight,"  Luke  said  encouragingly;  "he  be 
a-cooming  round." 

Two  coats  were  wrapped  up  and  placed  under  their 
beads,  and  they  were  then  lifted  and  carried  off,  Polly 
hurrying  on  ahead  to  make  up  the  fire  and  get  hot  water, 

"Say  nowt  to  no  one,"  Luke  said  as  he  started.  "Till 
t'  master  cooms  round  there  ain't  no  saying  what  he'd 
loike  done.  Maybe  he  won't  have  nowt  said  aboot  it." 

The  water  was  already  hot  when  the  party  reached  the 
cottage;  the  blood  was  carefully  washed  off  Ned's  head, 
and  a  great  swelling  with  an  ugly  gash  running  across 
was  shown.  Cold  water  wj,s  dashed  in  his  face,  and  with 
a  gasp  he  opened  his  eyes. 

"It  be  all  roight,  Maister  Wed/'  Luke  said  soothingly; 
"it  be  all  over  now,  and  you  be  among  vriends.  Ye've 
had  an  ugly  one  on  the  back  o'  thy  head,  but  I  dowfe 
thou  wiit  do  rarely  now." 

Ned  looked  round  vaguely,  then  a  look  of  intelligence 
came  into  his  face. 

"Where  is  Bill?"  he  asked. 

"He  be  hurted  sorely,  but  oi  think  it  be  only  loss  o* 
blood,  and  he  will  coom  round  again;  best  lie  still  a  few 
minutes,  maister,  thou  wilt  feel  better  then;  Polly  she 
be  tending  Bill." 

In  a  few  minutes  Ned  was  able  to  sit  up;  a  drink  of 
oold  brandy  and  water  further  restored  him.  He  went 
to  the  bed  on  which  Bill  had  been  placed. 

"He's  not  dead?"  he  asked  with  a  gasp,  as  he  saw  the 
white  face  enveloped  in  bandages. 

"No,  sure-lie,"  Luke  replied  cheerfully;  "he  be  a  long 
way  from  dead  yet,  oi  hoape,  though  he  be  badly  cut 
about." 

"Have  you  sent  for  the  doctor?"  Ned  asked. 

"No!" 

"Then  send  for  Dr.  Green  at  once,  and  tell  him  from 
me  to  come  up  here  instantly," 


THRO  UOH  THE  FRA  F.  275 

Ned  sat  down  in  a  chair  for  a  few  minutes,  for  he  was 
still  dazed  and  stupid;  but  his  brain  was  gradually  clear- 
ing, Presently  he  looked  up  at  the  men  who  were  still 
standing  silently  near  the  door. 

"I  have  no  doubt,"  he  said,  "that  I  have  to  thank  you 
all  for  saving  my  life,  but  at  present  I  do  not  know  how 
it  has  all  come  about.  I  will  see  you  to-morrow.  But 
unless  it  has  already  got  known,  please  say  nothing  about 
this.  I  don't  want  it  talked  about — at  any  rate  until  we 
see  how  Bill  gets  on.  Now,  Luke,"  he  continued,  when 
the  men  had  gone,  "tell  me  all  about  it.  My  brain  is  in 
a  whirl,  and  I  can  hardly  think." 

Luke  related  the  incidents  of  the  fight  and  the  flight 
of  the  assailants,  and  said  that  they  had  -tarried  off  a 
dead  man  with  them. 

Ned  sat  for  some  time  in  silence. 

"Yes,"  he  said  at  last,  "I  shot  one.  I  was  walking 
along  with  Bill  when  suddenly  a  gun  was  fired  from  a 
bush  close  by;  then  a  number  of  men  jumped  up  and 
rushed  upon  us.  I  had  my  pistol,  and  had  just  time  to 
fire  two  shots.  I  saw  one  man  go  straight  down,  and 
then  they  were  upon  us.  They  shouted  to  Bill  to  get 
out  of  the  way,  but  he  went  at  them  like  a  lion.  I  don't 
think  any  of  the  others  had  guns;  at  any  rate  they  only 
attacked  us  with  sticks  and  knives.  I  fought  with  my 
back  to  Bill  as  well  as  I  could,  and  we  were  keeping  them 
off,  till  suddenly  I  don't  remember  any  more." 

"One  on  them  hit  ye  from  behind  wi'  a  loaded  stick," 
Luke  said,  "and  thou  must  ha*  gone  doon  like  a  felled 
ox;  then  oi  expects  as  Bill  stood  across  thee  and  kept 
them  off  as  well  as  he  could,  but  they  war  too  much  for 
t'  lad;  beside  that  cut  on  the  head  he  ha*  one  on  t' 
shoulder  and  one  behind.  Oi  war  only  joost  in  toime, 
another  quarter  of  a  minute  and  they'd  ha'  got  theil 
knives  into  thee," 


276  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

"Poor  old  Bill,"  Ned  said  sadly,  going  up  to  the  bed- 
aide  and  laying  his  hand  on  the  unconscious  figure.  "I 
fear  you  have  given  your  life  to  save  one  of  little  value 
to  myself  or  any  one  else." 

"Don't  say  that,  Master  Ned,"  Polly  said  softly;  "you 
cannot  say  what  your  life  may  be  as  yet,  and  if  so  be  that 
Bill  is  to  die,  and  God  grant  it  isn't  so,  he  himself  would 
not  think  his  life  thrown  away  if  it  were  given  to  save 
yours." 

But  few  words  were  spoken  in  the  cottage  until  Dr. 
Green  avnved.  Ned's  head  was  aching  so  that  he  was 
forced  to  lie  down.  Polly  from  time  to  time  moistened 
Bill's  lips  with  a  few  drops  of  brandy.  George  had  been 
ordered  off  to  bed,  and  Luke  sat  gazing  at  the  firs,  wish- 
ing that  there  was  something  he  could  do.  At  last  the 
doctor  arrived;  the  messenger  had  told  him  the  nature 
of  the  case,  and  he  had  come  provided  with  lint,  plaster, 
and  bandages. 

"Well,  Ned,"  he  asked  as  he  came  in,  "have  you  been 
in  the  wars  again?" 

"I  am  all  right,  doctor.  I  had  a  knock  on  the  head 
which  a  day  or  two  will  put  right;  but  I  fear  Bill  is  very 
seriously  hurt." 

The  doctor  at  once  set  to  to  examine  the  bandages. 

"You  have  done  them  up  very  well,"  he  said  approv- 
ingly; "but  the  blood  is  still  oozing  from  them.  I  must 
dress  them  afresh;  get  me  plenty  of  hot  water,  Polly,  I 
have  brought  a  sponge  with  me.  Can  you  look  on  with- 
out fainting?"' 

"I  don't  think  I  shall  faint,  sir,"  Polly  said  quietly; 
"if  I  do,  feyther  will  take  my  place." 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  wounds  were  washed, 
drawn  together,  and  bandaged.  There  was  but  little 
fresh  bleeding,  for  tha  lad's  stock  of  life-blood  had  nearly 
all  flowed  away. 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  7.  277 

"A  very  near  case,"  the  doctor  said  critically;  "as 
close  a  shave  as  ever  I  saw.  Had  the  wound  on  the  face 
been  a  quarter  of  an  inch  nearer  the  eyebrow  it  would 
have  severed  the  temporal  artery.  As  it  is  it  has  merely 
la>d  open  the  jaw.  Neither  of  the  other  wounds  are  se- 
rious, though  they  might  very  well  have  been  fatal." 

"Then  you  think  he  will  get  round,  doctor?"  Ned 
asked  in  a  low  tone. 

"Get  round!  Of  course  he  will,"  Dr.  Green  replied 
cheerily.  "Now  that  we  have  got  him  bound  up  we  will 
soon  bring  him  round.  It  is  only  a  question  of  loss  of 
blood." 

"Hullo!  this  will  never  do,"  he  broke  off  as  Ned  sud- 
denly reeled  and  would  have  fallen  to  the  ground  had 
not  Luke  caught  him.  "Pour  this  cordial  down  Swin- 
ton's  throat,  Polly,  a  little  at  a  time,  and  lift  his  head  as 
you  do  it,  and  when  you  see  him  open  his  eyes,  put  a 
pillow  under  his  head;  but  don't  do  so  so  till  he  begins 
to  come  round.  Now  let  me  look  at  Ned's  head. 

"It  must  have  been  a  tremendous  blow,  Luke,"  he 
said  seriously.  "I  only  hope  it  hasn't  fractured  the 
skull.  However,  all  this  swelling  and  suffusion  of  blood 
is  a  good  sign.  Give  me  that  hot  water.  I  shall  put  a 
lancet  in  here  and  get  it  to  bleed  freely.  That  will  be  a 
relief  to  him." 

While  he  was  doing  this  an  exclamation  of  pleasure 
from  Polly  showed  that  Bill  was  showing  signs  of  return- 
ing to  life.  His  eyes  presently  opened.  Polly  bent  over 
him. 

"Lie  quiet,  Bill,  dear;  you  have  been  hurt,  but  the 
doctor  says  you  will  soon  be  well  again.  Yes;  Master 
Ned  is  all  right  too.  Don't  worry  yourself  about  him." 

An  hour  later  both  were  sleeping  quietly. 

"They  will  sleep  till  morning,"  Dr.  Green  said,  "per- 
haps well  on  into  the  day;  it  is  no  use  my  waiting  any 
longer.  I  will  be  up  the  first  thing." 


378  THROUGH  THE  FRAT. 

So  he  drove  away,  while  Polly  took  her  work  and  sat 
down  to  watch  the  sleepers  during  the  night,  and  Luke, 
taking  his  stick  and  hat,  set  off  to  guard  the  mill  till 
daylight. 

Ned  woke  first  just  as  daylight  was  breaking;  he  felt 
stupid  and  heavy,  with  a  splitting  pain  in  his  head.  He 
tried  to  rise,  but  found  that  he  could  not  do  so.  He 
accordingly  told  George  to  go  down  in  ah  hour's  time  to 
Marsden,  and  to  leave  a  message  at  the  house  saying  that 
he  was  detained  and  should  not  be  back  to  breakfast,  and 
that  probably  he  might  not  return  that  night.  The  doc- 
tor kept  his  head  enveloped  in  wet  bandages  all  day,  and 
he  was  on  the  following  morning  able  to  go  down  to 
Marsden,  although  still  terribly  pale  and  shaken.  His 
appearance  excited  the  liveliest  wonder  and  commisera- 
tion on  the  part  of  Charlie,  Lucy,  and  Abijah;  but  he 
told  them  that  he  had  had  an  accident,  and  had  got  a 
nasty  knock  on  the  back  of  his  head.  He  kept  his  room 
for  a  day  or  two;  but  at  the  end  of  that  time  he  was  able 
to  go  to  the  mill  as  usual.  Bill  Swinton  was  longer  away, 
but  broths  and  jellies  soon  built  up  his  strength  again, 
and  in  three  weeks  he  was  able  to  resume  work,  although 
it  was  long  before  the  ugly  scar  on  his  face  was  healed. 

The  secret  was  well  kept,  and  although  in  time  the 
truth  of  the  affair  became  known  in  Varley  it  never 
reached  Marsden,  and  Ned  escaped  the  talk  and  com- 
ment which  it  would  haye  excited  had  it  been  known, 
and,  what  was  worse,  the  official  inquiry  which  would 
have  followed.  The  Huddersfield  men  naturally  kept 
their  own  council.  They  had  hastily  buried  their  dead 
comrade  OTI  the  moor,  and  although  several  of  them  were 
so  severely  knocked  about  that  they  were  unable  to  go  to 
work  for  some  time,  no  rumor  of  the  affair  got  about 
outside  the  circle  of  the  conspirators.  It  need  hardly  be 
said  that  this  incident  drew  Ned  and  Bill  even  more 


THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  T.  279 

closely  together  than  before,  and  that  the  former  hence- 
forth regarded  Bill  Swinton  in  the  light  of  a  brother. 

At  the  end  of  the  Christmas  holidays  Mr.  Person 
brought  home  a  mistress  to  the  schoolhouse.  She  was  a 
bright,  pleasant  woman,  and  having  heard  from  her  hus- 
band all  the  particulars  of  Ned's  case  she  did  her  best  to 
make  him  feel  that  she  fully  shared  in  her  husband's 
welcome  whenever  he  came  to  the  house,  and  although 
Ned  was  some  little  time  in  accustoming  himself  to  the 
presence  of  one  whoir  he  had  at  first  regarded  as  an  in- 
truder in  the  little  oirele  of  his  friends,  this  feeling  wore 
away  under  the  influence  of  her  cordiality  and  kindness. 

"Is  it  not  shocking,"  she  said  to  her  husband  one  day, 
"to  think  that  for  nearly  a  year  that  poor  lad  should 
never  have  seeo  his  own  mother,  though  she  is  in  the 
house  with  him,  still  worse  to  know  that  that  she  thinks 
him  a  iLr.rderer?  Do  you  think  it  would  be  of  any  good 
if  I  were  to  go  an  i  see  her,  and  tell  her  how  wicked  and 
wrong  her  conduct  is?" 

"No,  my  dear,"  Mr.  Porson  said,  smiling,  "I  don't 
think  that  course  would  be  at  all  likely  to  have  a  good 
effect.  Green  tells  me  that  he  is  sure  that  this  convic- 
tion which  she  has  of  Ned's  guilt  is  a  deep  and  terrible 
grief  to  her.  He  thinks  that,  weak  and  silly  as  she  is, 
she  has  really  a  strong  affection  for  Ned,  as  well  as  for 
her  other  children,  and  it  is  because  this  is  so  that  she 
feels  so  terribly  what  she  believes  to  be  his  guilt.  She 
suffers  in  her  way  just  as  much,  or  more,  than  he  does  in 
his.  He  has  his  business,  which  occupies  his  mind  and 
prevents  him  from  brooding  over  his  position;  besides, 
the  knowledge  that  a  few  of  us  are  perfectly  convinced 
of  his  innocence  enables  him  to  hold  up.  She  has  no 
distraction,  nothing  to  turn  her  thoughts  frpm  this  fatal 
Subject. 

"Green  says  she  has  several  times  asked  him  whether 


280  THRO  UGH  THE  FBA  T. 

a  person  could  be  tried  twice  for  the  same  offense,  after 
he  has  been  acquitted  the  first  time,  and  he  believes  that 
the  fear  is  ever  present  in  her  mind  that  some  fresh  evi- 
dence may  be  forthcoming  which  may  unmistakably  bring 
the  guilt  home  to  him.  I  have  talked  it  over  with  Ned 
several  times,  and  he  now  takes  the  same  view  of  it  as  I 
do.  The  idea  of  his  guilt  has  become  a  sort  of  mono- 
mania with  her,  and  nothing  save  the  most  clear  and 
convincing  proof  of  his  innocence  would  have  any  effect 
upon  her  mind.  If  that  is  ever  forthcoming  she  may 
recover,  and  the  two  may  be  brought  together  again. 
At  the  same  time  I  think  that  you  might  very  well  call 
upon  her,  introducing  yourself  by  saying  that  as  I  was  a 
friend  of  Captain  Sankey's  and  of  her  son's  you  were 
desirous  of  making  her  acquaintance,  especially  as  you 
heard  that  she  was  such  an  invalid.  She  has  no  friends 
whatever.  She  was  never  a  very  popular  woman,  and 
the  line  every  one  kaows  she  has  taken  in  reference  to 
the  murder  of  her  second  husband  has  set  those  who 
would  otherwise  have  been  inclined  to  be  kind  against 
her.  Other  people  may  be  convinced  of  Ned's  guilt,  but 
you  see  it  seems  to  every  one  to  be  shocking  that  a 
mother  should  take  part  against  her  son." 

Accordingly  Mrs.  Person  called.  On  the  first  occasion 
when  she  did  so  Mrs.  Mulready  sent  down  to  say  that 
she  was  sorry  she  could  not  see  her,  but  that  the  state  of 
her  health  did  not  permit  her  to  receive  visitors. 

Mrs.  Porson,  however,  was  not  to  be  discouraged. 
First  she  made  friends  with  Lucy,  and  when  she  knew 
that  the  girl  was  sure  to  have  spoken  pleasantly  of  her  to 
her  mother  she  opened  a  correspondence  with  Mrs.  Mul- 
ready. At  first  she  only  wrote  to  ask  that  Lucy  might 
be  allowed  to  come  and  spend  the  day  with  her.  Her 
next  letter  was  on  the  subject  of  Lucy's  music.  The 
girl  had  long  gone  to  a  day-school  kept  by  a  lady  in 


THROUGH  THE  FRAY.  281 

Marsden,  but  her  music  had  been  neglected,  and  Mrs. 
Person  wrote  to  say  that  she  found  that  Lucy  had  a  taste 
for  music,  and  that  having  been  herself  well  taught  she 
should  be  happy  to  give  her  lessons  twice  a  week,  and 
that  if  Mrs.  Mulready  felt  well  enough  to  see  her  she 
would  like  to  have  a  little  chat  with  her  on  the  subject. 

This  broke  the  ice.  Lucy's  backwardness  in  music 
had  long  been  a  grievance  with  her  mother,  who,  as  she 
lay  in  bed  and  listened  to  the  girl  practicing  below  had 
fretted  over  the  thought  that  she  could  obtain  no  good 
teacher  for  her  in  Marsden.  Mrs.  Person's  offer  was 
therefore  too  tempting  to  be  refused,  and  as  it  was  nec- 
essary to  appear  to  reciprocate  the  kindness  of  that  lady, 
she  determined  to  make  an  effort  to  receive  her. 

The  meeting  went  off  well.  Having  once  made  the 
effort  Mrs.  Mulready  found,  to  her  surprise,  that  it  was 
pleasant  to  her  after  being  cut  off  for  so  many  months 
from  all  intercourse  with  the  world,  except  such  as  she 
gained  from  the  doctor,  her  two  children,  and  the  old 
servant,  to  be  chatting  with  her  visitor,  who  exerted  her- 
self to  the  utmost  to  make  herself  agreeable. 

The  talk  was  at  first  confined  to  the  ostensible  subject 
of  Mrs.  Person's  visit;  but  after  that  was  satisfactorily 
arranged  the  conversation  turned  to  Marsden  and  the 
neighborhood.  Many  people  had  called  upon  Mrs.  Por- 
son,  and  as  all  of  thece  were  more  or  less  known  to  Mrs. 
Mulready,  her  visitor  asked  her  many  questions  concern- 
ing them,  and  the  invalid  was  soon  gossiping  cheerfully 
over  the  family  histories  and  personal  peculiarities  of 
her  neighbors. 

"You  have  done  me  a  world  of  good,"  she  said  when 
Mrs.  Porson  rose  to  leave.  "I  never  see  any  one  but  the 
doctor,  and  he  is  the  worst  person  in  the  world  for  a 
gossip.  He  ought  to  know  everything,  but  somehow  he 
seems  to  know  nothing.  You  will  come  again,  won't 


282  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

you?  It  will  be  a  real  kindness,  and  yon  have  taken  so 
much  interest  in  my  daughter  that  it  quite  seems  to  me 
as  if  you  were  an  old  friend." 

And  so  the  visit  was  repeated;  but  not  too  often,  for 
Mrs.  Person  knew  that  it  was  better  that  her  patient 
should  wait  and  long  for  her  coming,  and  now  that  the 
ice  was  once  broken,  Mrs.  Mulready  soon  came  to  look 
forward  with  eagerness  to  these  changes  in  her  monoto- 
nous existence. 

For  some  time  Ned's  name  was  never  mentioned  be- 
tween them.  Then  one  day  Mrs.  Person,  in  a  careless 
manner,  as  if  she  had  no  idea  whatever  of  the  state  of 
the  relations  between  mother  and  son,  mentioned  that 
Ned  had  been  at  their  house  the  previous  evening,  say- 
ing: "My  husband  has  a  wonderful  liking  and  respect 
for  your  son;  they  are  the  greatest  friends,  though  of 
course  there  is  a  good  deal  of  difference  in  age  between 
them.  I  don't  know  any  one  of  whom  John  thinks  so 
highly." 

Mrs.  Mulready  turned  very  pale,  and  then  in  a  con- 
strained voice  said: 

"Mr.  Porson  has  always  been  very  kind  to  my  sons." 
Then  she  sighed  deeply  and  changed  the  subject  of  con- 
versation. 

"Your  wife  is  doing  my  patient  a  great  deal  more  good 
than  I  have  ever  been  able  to  do,"  Dr.  Green  said  one 
day  to  the  schoolmaster.  "She  has  become  quite  a  dif- 
ferent woman  in  the  last  five  or  six  weeks.  She  is  always 
up  and  on  the  sofa  now  when  I  call,  and  I  notice  that 
she  begins  to  take  pains  with  her  dress  again;  and  that, 
you  know,  is  always  a  first-rate  sign  with  a  woman.  I 
think  she  would  be  able  to  go  downstairs  again  soon, 
were  it  not  for  her  feeling  about  Ned.  She  would  not 
meet  him,  I  am  sure.  You  don't  see  any  signs  of  a 
change  in  that  quarter,  I  suppose?" 


THROUGH  THE  FEAY.  28S 

"No,"  Mrs.  Person  replied.  "The  last  time  I  men- 
tioned his  name  she  said:  'My  son  is  a  most  unfortunate 
young  man,  and  the  subject  pains  me  too  much  to  dis- 
cuss. Therefore,  if  you  please,  Mrs.  Person,  I  would 
rather  leave  it  alone.'  So  I  am  afraid  there  is  no  chanct? 
of  my  making  any  progress  there." 


THE 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  ATTACK  ON  CARTWRIGH'i's  MILL. 

NED  still  slept  at  the  mill.  He  was  sure  that  t> 
was  no  chance  of  a  renewal  of  the  attack  by  the  work 
people  near,  but  an  assault  might  be  again  organized  by 
parties  from  a  distance.  The  murder  of  Mr.  Horsfai: 
had  caused  greater  vigilance  than  ever  among  the  mili- 
tary. At  some  of  the  mills  the  use  of  the  new  machinery 
had  been  discontinued  and  cropping  by  hand  resumed. 
This  was  the  case  at  the  mills  at  Otiewells  and  Bankhot- 
tom,  both  of  which  belonged  to  Messrs.  Abraham  &  John 
Horsfail,  the  father  and  uncle  of  the  murdered  man,  and 
at  other  mills  in  the  neighborhood.  Mr.  Cartwright  and 
gome  of  the  other  owners  still  continued  the  use  of  the 
new  machinery. 

One  night  Ned  had  just  gone  to  bed  when  he  was  star- 
tled by  the  ringing  of  the  bell.  He  leaped  irom  his  bed. 
He  hesitated  to  go  to  the  window,  as  it  was  likely  enough 
that  men  might  be  lying  in  wait  to  shoot  him  when  he 
appeared.  Seizing  his  pistols,  therefore,  he  hurried  down 
below.  A  continued  knocking  was  going  on  at  the  front 
entrance.  It  was  not,  however,  the  noisy  din  which 
would  be  made  by  a  party  trying  to  force  their  way  in, 
but  rather  the  persistent  call  of  one  trying  to  attract 
attention. 

"Who  is  there?"  he  shouted  through  the  door;  "and 
What  do  you 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T  285 

"Open  the  door,  please.  It  is  I,  Polly  Powlett,"  a 
Voice  replied.  "I  want  to  speuk  to  you  particularly,  sir." 

"I  have  come  down,  sir,"  she  said  as  Ned  threw  open 
the  door  and  she  entered,  still  panting  from  her  long 
run,  "to  tell  you  that  CartwrigH's  mill  is  going  to  be 
attacked.  I  think  some  of  the  Varley  men  are  concerned 
in  it.  Anyhow,  the  news  has  got  about  in  the  village. 
Feyther  and  Bill  are  both  watched,  and  could  not  get 
away  to  give  you  the  news;  but  feyther  told  me,  and  I 
slipped  out  at  the  back  door  and  made  my  way  round  by 
the  moor,  for  they  have  got  a  guard  on  the  road  to  pre- 
vent any  one  passing.  There  is  no  time  to  spare,  for 
they  were  to  join  a  party  from  Longroyd  Bridge,  at  ten 
o'clock  at  the  steeple  in  Sir  George  Armitage's  fields, 
which  ain't  more  than  three  miles  from  the  mill.  It's 
half-past  ten  now,  but  maybe  they  will  be  late.  I 
couldn't  get  away  before,  and  indeed  feyther  only  learned 
the  particulars  just  as  I  started.  He  told  me  to  come 
straight  to  you,  as  you  would  know  what  to  do.  I  said, 
Should  I  go  and  fetch  the  troops?  but  he  said  No — it 
would  be  sure  to  be  found  out  who  had  brought  them, 
and  our  lives  wouldn't  be  worth  having.  But  I  don't 
mind  risking  it,  sir,  if  you  think  that's  the  best  plan." 

"No,  Polly;  on  no  account.  You  have  risked  quite 
enough  in  coming  to  tell  me.  I  will  go  straight  to  Cart- 
wright's.  Do  you  get  back  as  quickly  as  you  can,  and 
get  in  the  same  way  you  came.  Be  very  careful  that  no 
one  sees  you." 

So  saying  he  dashed  upstairs,  pulled  on  his  shoes,  and 
then  started  at  full  speed  for  Liversedge.  As  he  ran  he 
calculated  the  probabilities  of  his  being  there  in  time. 
Had  the  men  started  exactly  at  the  hour  named  they 
•would  be  by  this  time  attacking  the  mill;  but  it  was  not 
likely  that  they  would  be  punctual — some  of  the  hands 
would  be  sure  to  be  late. 


g86  THRO  UOH  THE  FRA  T. 

There  would  be  discussion  and  delay  before  starting. 
They  might  well  be  half  an  hour  after  the  time  named 
before  they  left  the  steeple,  as  the  obelisk  in  Sir  George 
Armitage's  field  was  called  by  the  country  people.  He 
might  be  in  time  yet,  but  it  would  be  a  close  thing;  and 
had  his  own  life  depended  upon  the  result  Ned  could  not 
have  run  more  swiftly.  He  had  hopes  that  as  he  went 
he  might  have  come  across  a  cavalry  patrol  and  sent 
them  to  Marsden  and  Ottewells  to  bring  up  aid;  but  the 
road  was  quiet  and  deserted.  Once  or  twice  he  paused 
for  an  instant,  thinking  he  heard  the  sound  of  distant 
musketry.  He  held  his  breath,  but  no  sound  could  he 
hear  save  the  heavy  thumping  of  his  own  heart. 

His  hopes  rose  as  he  neared  Liversedge.  He  was  close 
now,  but  as  he  ran  into  the  yard  he  heard  a  confused 
murmur  and  the  dull  tramping  of  many  feet.  He  had 
won  the  race,  but  by  a  few  seconds  only.  The  great 
etone-built  building  lay  hushed  in  quiet;  he  could  see  its 
outline  against  the  sky,  and  could  even  make  out  the 
great  alarm-bell  which  had  recently  been  erected  above 
the  roof.  He  ran  up  to  the  doorway  and  knocked  heavily. 
The  deep  barking  of  a  dog  within  instantly  resounded 
through  the  building.  Half  a  minute  later  Mr.  Cart- 
wright's  voice  within  demanded  who  was  there. 

"It  is  I,  Ned  Sankey — open  at  once.  The  Luddites 
are  upon  you!" 

The  bolts  were  hastily  undrawn,  and  Ned  rushed  in 
and  assisted  to  fasten  the  door  behind  him. 

"They  will  be  here  in  a  minute,"  he  panted  out. 
"They  are  just  behind." 

The  noise  had  already  roused  the  ten  men  who  slept 
in  the  building;  five  of  these  were  Mr.  Cartwright's 
workmen,  the  other  five  were  soldiers.  Hastily  they 
threw  on  their  clothes  and  seized  their  arms;  but  they 
were  scarcely  ready  when  a  lo&z  of  musketry  was  heard, 


THRO  UGH  TEE  FRA  F.  287 

mingled  with  a  clatter  of  falling  glass,  nearly  every  pane 
in  the  lower  windows  being  smashed  by  the  discharge  of 
slugs,  buckshot,  and  bullets. 

This  was  followed  by  the  thundering  noise  of  a  score 
of  sledge-hammers  at  the  principal  entrance  and  the  side 
doors.  Mr.  Cartwright  and  one  of  his  workmen  ran  to 
the  bell-rope,  and  in  a  moment  its  iron  tongue  was  clang- 
ing out  its  summons  for  assistance  to  the  country  round. 
A  roar  of  fury  broke  from  the  Luddites;  many  of  them 
fired  at  the  bell  in  hopes  of  cutting  the  rope,  and  the 
men  plied  their  hammers  more  furiously  than  before. 
But  the  doors  were  tremendously  strong  and  were  backed 
with  plates  of  iron. 

The  defenders  were  not  idle;  all  had  their  allotted 
places  at  the  windows,  and  from  tl  ese  a  steady  return 
was  kept  up  in  answer  to  the  scattering  Sre  without. 
Ned  had  caught  up  the  gun  which  Mr.  Cartwright  had 
laid  down  when  he  ran  to  the  bell-rope,  and  with  it  he 
kept  up  a  steady  fire  at  the  dark  figures  belcw.  There 
was  a  shout  of  "Bring  up  Enoch!" 

This  was  a  name  given  to  the  exceedingly  heavy  ham- 
mers at  that  time  used  in  the  Yorkshire  smithies.  They 
were  manufactured  by  the  firm  of  Enoch  &  James  Taylor, 
of  Marsden,  and  were  popularly  known  among  the  men 
by  the  name  of  their  maker.  A  powerful  smith  now  ad- 
vanced with  one  of  these  heavy  weapons  and  began  to 
pound  at  the  door,  which,  heavy  as  it  was,  shook  under 
his  blows.  Ned,  regardless  of  the  fire  of  the  Luddites, 
leaned  far  out  of  the  window  so  as  to  be  able  to  aim 
down  at  the  group  round  the  door,  and  fired. 

The  gun  was  loaded  with  a  heavy  charge  of  buckshot. 
He  heard  a  hoarse  shout  of  pain  and  rage,  and  the  ham- 
mer dropped  to  the  ground.  Another  man  caught  up 
the  hammer  and  the  thundering  din  recommenced.  Mr. 
Cartwright  had  now  joined  Ned,  leaving  hi?  workmen  to 
continue  to  pull  the  bell-rope. 


288  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

"You  had  better  come  down,  Sankey.  The  door  must 
give  way  ere  long;  we  must  make  a  stand  there.  If  they 
once  break  in,  it  will  soon  be  all  up  with  us." 

Calling  together  three  or  four  of  the  soldiers  the  man- 
ufacturer hurried  down  to  the  door.  They  were  none 
too  soon.  The  panels  had  already  been  splintered  to 
pieces  and  the  iron  plates  driven  from  their  bolts  by  the 
tremendous  blows  of  the  hammer,  but  the  stout  bar  still 
stood.  Through  the  yawning  holes  in  the  upper  part  of 
the  door  the  hammermen  could  be  seen  at  work  without. 

Five  guns  flashed  out,  and  yells  and  heavy  falls  told 
that  the  discharge  had  taken  serious  effect.  The  ham- 
mering ceased,  for  the  men  could  not  face  the  tire. 
Leaving  Ned  and  one  of  the'  soldiers  there,  Mr.  Cart- 
wright  hurried  round  to  the  other  doors,  but  the  assault 
had  been  less  determined  there  and  they  still  resisted; 
then  he  went  upstairs  and  renewed  the  firing  from  the 
upper  windows.  The  fight  had  now  continued  for  twenty 
minutes,  and  the  fire  of  the  Luddites  was  slackening; 
their  supply  of  powder  and  ball  was  running  short.  Tha 
determined  resistance,  when  they  had  hoped  to  have 
effected  an  easy  entrance  by  surprise,  had  discouraged 
them;  several  had  fallen  and  more  were  wounded,  and 
at  any  time  the  soldiers  might  be  upon  them. 

Those  who  had  been  forced  by  fear  to  join  the  associa- 
tion— and  these  formed  no  small  part  of  the  whole — had 
long  since  begun  to  slink  away  quietly  in  the  darkness, 
and  the  others  now  began  to  follow  them.  The  groans 
and  cries  of  the  wounded  men  added  to  their  discomfiture, 
and  many  eagerly  seized  the  excuse  of  carrying  these 
away  to  withdraw  from  the  fight.  Gradually  the  firing 
ceased,  and  a  shout  of  triumph  rose  from  the  little  party 
in  the  mill  at  the  failure  of  the  attack.  The  defenders 
gathered  in  the  lower  floor. 

"1  think  they  are  all  gone  now,"  Ned  said.     "Shall 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

WO  go  out,  Mr.  Cartwright,  and  see  what  we  can  do  for 
the  wounded?  There  are  several  of  them  lying  round 
the  door  and  near  the  windows.  I  can  hear  them  groan- 
ing." 

"No,  Ned,"  Mr.  Cartwright  said  firmly,  "they  ^must 
wait  a  little  longer.  The  others  may  still  be  hiding  close 
ready  to  make  a  rush  if  we  come  out;  besides,  it  would 
likely  enough  be  said  of  us  that  we  went  out  and  killed 
the  wounded;  we  must  wait  awhile."  Presently  a  voice 
was  heard  shouting  without: 

"Are  you  all  right,  Cartwright?" 

"Yes,"  the  manufacturer  replied.     "Who  are  you?" 

The  questioner  proved  to  be  a  friend  who  lived  the 
other  side  of  Liversedge,  and  who  had  been  aroused  by 
the  ringing  of  the  alarm-bell.  He  had  not  ventured  to 
approach  until  the  firing  had  ceased,  and  had  then  come 
on  to  see  the  issue.  Hearing  that  the  rioters  had  all 
departed,  Mr.  Cartwright  ordered  the  door  to  be  opened. 
The  wounded  Luddites  were  lifted  and  carried  into  the 
mill,  and  Mr.  Cartwright  sent  at  once  for  the  nearest 
surgeon,  who  was  speedily  upon  the  spot. 

Long  before  he  arrived  the  hussars  had  ridden  up,  and 
had  been  dispatched  over  the  country  in  search  of  the 
rioters,  of  whom,  save  the  dead  and  wounded,  no  signs 
were  visible.  As  day  dawned  the  destruction  which  had 
been  wrought  was  clearly  visible.  The  doors  were  in 
splinters,  the  lower  window-frames  were  all  smashed  in, 
scarce  a  pane  of  glass  remained  in  its  place  throughout 
the  whole  building,  the  stonework  was  dotted  and 
splashed  with  bullet  marks,  the  angles  of  the  windows 
were  chipped  and  broken,  there  were  dark  patches  of 
blood  in  many  places  in  the  courtyard,  and  the  yard 
itself  and  the  roads  leading  from  the  mill  were  strewn 
with  guns,  picks,  levers,  hammers,  and  pikes,  which  had 
been  thrown  away  by  the  discomfited  rioters  in  their 
retreat. 


290  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  F. 

i 
tt 


They  have  had  a  lesson  for  once,"  Mr.  Cartwright 
said  as  he  looked  round,  "they  won't  attack  my  mill 
again  in  a  hurry.  I  need  not  say,  Sankey,  how  deeply  I 
am  obliged  to  you  for  your  timely  warning.  How  did 
you  get  to  know  of  it?" 

Ned  related  the  story  of  his  being  awakened  by  Mary 
Powlett.  He  added,  "I  don't  think,  after  all,  my  warn- 
ing was  of  much  use  to  you.  You  could  have  kept  them 
out  anyhow." 

"I  don't  think  so,"  Mr.  Cartwright  said.  "I  imagine 
that  your  arrival  upset  all  their  plans;  they  were  so  close 
behind  you  that  they  must  have  heard  the  knocking  and 
the  door  open  and  close.  The  appeaarnce  of  lights  in 
the  mill  and  the  barking  of  the  dog,  would,  at  any  rate, 
have  told  them  that  we  were  on  the  alert,  and  seeing  that 
they  ran  on  and  opened  fire.  I  have  no  doubt  that  their 
plan  was  to  have  stolen  quietly  up  to  the  windows  and 
commenced  an  attack  upon  these  in  several  places,  and 
had  they  done  this  they  would  probably  have  forced  an 
entrance  before  we  could  have  got  together  to  resist  them. 
No,  my  lad,  you  and  that  girl  have  saved  the  mill 
between  you.'* 

"You  will  not  mention,  Mr.  Cartwright,  to  any  one 
how  I  learned  the  news.  The  girl's  life  would  not  be 
safe  were  it  known  that  she  brought  me  word  of  the  in- 
iention  of  the  Luddites." 

"You  may  rely  on  me  for  that;  and  now,  if  you  please, 
we  will  go  off  home  at  once  and  get  some  breakfast. 
Amy  may  have  heard  of  the  attack  and  will  be  in  a  rare 
fright  until  she  gets  news  of  me." 

Mr.  Cartwright's  house  was  about  a  mile  from  the 
mill.  When  they  arrived  there  it  was  still  closed  and 
quiet,  and  it  was  evident  that  no  alarm  had  been  excited. 
Mr.  Cartwright's  knocking  soon  roused  the  servants,  and 
a  few  minutes  later  Amy  hurried  down. 


THRO  UQH  THE  FBA  7.  291 

"What  is  it,  papa?  What  brings  you  back  so  early? 
it  is  only  seven  o'clock  now.  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  San- 
key?  Why,  papa,  how  dirty  and  black  you  both  look! 
What  have  you  been  doing?  And,  oh,  papa!  you  havt 
got  blood  on  your  hands!" 

"It  ^  not  my  own,  my  dear,  and  you  need  not  be 
frightened.  The  attack  on  the  mill  has  come  at  last 
and  we  have  given  the  Luddites  a  handsome  thrashing. 
The  danger  is  all  over  now,  for  I  do  not  think  the  mill  is 
ever  likely  to  be  attacked  again.  But  I  will  tell  you  all 
about  it  presently;  run  and  get  breakfast  ready  as  soon 
as  you  can,  for  we  are  as  "hungry  as  hunters,  I  can  tell 
you.  We  will  go  and  have  a  wash,  and  will  be  ready  in 
ten  minutes." 

"We  can't  be  ready  in  ten  minutes,  papa,  for  the  fires 
are  not  lighted  yet,  but  we  will  be  as  quick  as  we  can;  and 
do  please  make  haste  and  come  and  tell  me  all  about  this 
dreadful  business." 

In  half  an  hour  the  party  were  seated  at  breakfast. 
Amy  had  already  been  told  the  incidents  of  the  fight,  and 
trembled  as  she  heard  how  nearly  the  rioters  had  burst 
their  way  into  the  mill,  and  was  deeply  grateful  to  Ned 
for  the  timely  warning  which  had  frustrated  the  plans  of 
the  rioters. 

In  vain  did  the  soldiers  scour  the  country.  The  Lud- 
dites on  their  retreat  had  scattered  to  their  villages,  the 
main  body  returning  to  Huddersfield  and  appearing  at 
their  work  as  usual  in  the  morning. 

Large  rewards  were  offered  for  information  which 
would  lead  to  the  apprehension  of  any  concerned  in  the 
attack,  but  these,  as  well  as  the  notices  offering  two 
thousand  pounds  for  the  apprehension  of  the  murderers 
of  Mr.  Horsfall,  met  with  no  responses.  Scores  of  men 
must  have  known  who  were  concerned  in  these  affairs, 
but  either  fidelity  to  the  cause  or  fear  of  the  conse- 
quences of  treachery  kept  them  silent. 


292  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  7. 

Mr.  Cartwright  was  anxious  to  offer  a  handsome  re- 
ward to  Mary  Powlett  for  the  service  she  had  rendered 
him,  but  Ned  told  him  that  he  was  sure  she  would  not 
accept  anything.  Mr.  Cartwright,  however,  insisting  on 
the  point,  Ned  saw  Mary  and  sounded  her  upon  the  sub- 
ject. She  was  indignant  at  the  idea. 

"No,  Master  Ned,"  she  said,  "I  would  not  take  money, 
not  ever  so.  I  came  down  to  tell  you  because  I  thought 
it  wicked  and  wrong  of  the  men  to  destroy  the  mill,  and 
because  they  would  no  doubt  have  murdered  Mr.  Cart- 
wright and  the  people  there;  but  I  would  not  take  money 
lor  doing  it.  Even  if  nobody  ever  got  to  know  of  it,  it 
would  always  seem  to  me  as  if  I  had  sold  the  hands,  and 
they  have  suffered  enough,  God  ^nows.'* 

"I  don't  think  Mr.  Cartwright  thought  of  offering  you 
money.  I  told  him  that  I  was  sure  that  you  wouldn't 
take  it,  but  he  hoped  that  he  might  be  able  to  do  some- 
thing for  you  in  some  other  way." 

"No,  thank  you,  sir,"  Mary  said  with  quiet  dignity; 
"there  fsn't  any  way  that  I  could  take  anything  for 
doing  what  I  did." 

"Well,  Mary,  we  won't  say  anything  more  about  it.  I 
only  spoke,  you  know,  because  Mr.  Cartwright  insisted, 
and,  of  course,  as  he  did  not  know  you  he  could  not  tell 
how  different  you  wem  from  other  girls.  There  is  no 
suspicion,  I  hope,  chat  you  were  away  from  the  village." 

"No,  sir,  I  don't  thi^k  so.  Two  of  the  men  sat  here 
talking  with  feyther  till  past  eleven  o'clock,  but  they 
thought  that  I  was  in  bed,  as  I  had  said  good-night  and 
had  gone  into  my  room  an  hour  before,  and  I  did  not  see 
any  one  about  in  the  village  as  I  came  back  over  the 
moor  behind." 

"None  of  the  hands  belonging  to  the  village  are  miss- 
ing, I  hope,  Mary.  I  was  glad  to  find  that  none  of  them 
were  among  the  killed  and  wounded  round  the  mill." 


THRO  UGH  THE  PSA  T.  293 

>,  jir,  except  that  John  Stukeley  has  not  been  about 
since.  The  smithy  was  not  opened  the  next  morning 
and  the  chapel  was  closed  yesterday.  They  say  as  he 
has  been  taken  suddenly  ill,  but  feyther  thinks  that  per- 
haps he  was  wounded.  Of  course  men  don't  speak  much 
before  feyther,  and  I  don't  talk  much  to  the  other  -women 
of  the  village,  so  we  don't  know  what's  going  on;  any- 
how the  doctor  has  not  been  here  to  see  him,  and  if  he 
had  been  only  ill  I  should  think  they  would  have  had 
Dr.  Green  up.  Old  Sarah  James  is  nursing  him.  I  saw 
her  this  morning  going  to  the  shop  and  asked  her  how 
he  was;  she  only  said  it  was  no  business  of  mine.  But 
she  doesn't  like  me  because  sometimes  I  nurse  people 
when  they  are  ill,  and  she  thinks  it  takes  money  from 
her;  and  so  it  does,  but  what  can  I  do  if  people  like  me 
to  sit  by  them  better  than  her?  and  no  wonder,  for  she 
is  very  deaf  and  horribly  dirty." 

"I  don't  think  they  are  to  be  blamed,  Polly,"  Ned 
said,  smiling.  "If  I  were  ill  I  should  certainly  like  you 
to  nurse  me  a  great  deal  better  than  that  bad-tempered 
old  woman." 

The  attack  on  Cartwright's  mill  made  a  great  sensation 
through  that  part  of  the  country.  It  was  the  most  de- 
termined effort  which  the  Luddites  had  yet  made,  and 
although  it  showed  their  determination  to  carry  matters 
to  an  extremity,  it  also  showed  that  a  few  determined 
men  could  successfully  resist  their  attacks. 

Nothing  else  was  talked  about  at  Marsden,  and  as  Mr. 
Cartwright  everywhere  said  that  the  success  of  the  re- 
sistance was  due  entirely  to  the  upsetting  of  the  plans  of 
the  rioters  by  the  warning  Ned  had  given  him,  the  latter 
gained  great  credit  in  the  eyes  of  all  the  peaceful  inhab- 
itants. But  as  it  would  make  Ned  still  more  obnoxious 
to  the  Luddites,  Major  Browne  insistaJ  on  placing  six 
soldiers  permanently  at  the  mill,  and  on  four  accompany- 


294  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  7. 

ing  him  as  an  escort  whenever  he  went  backward  or 
forward. 

Ned  was  very  averse  to  these  measures,  but  the  magis- 
trates agreed  with  Major  Browne  as  to  the  danger  of  as- 
sassination to  which  Ned  was  exposed  from  the  anger  of 
the  croppers  at  his  having  twice  thwarted  their  attempts, 
and  he  the  more  readily  agreed  as  the  presence  of  this 
guard  soothed  the  fears  which  Charlie  and  Lucy  felt  for 
his  safety  whenever  he  was  absent  from  the  town.  What 
perhaps  most  influenced  him  was  a  conversation  which  he 
had  with  Mrs.  Person. 

"Your  mother  was  speaking  of  you  to  me  to-day, 
Ned,"  she  said;  "it  is  the  first  time  she  has  done  so 
since  I  made  her  acquaintance.  She  began  by  saying, 
'Please,  Mrs.  Porson,  tell  me  all  about  this  attack  on 
George  Cartwright's  mill;  Abijah  and  Lucy  have  been 
talking  about  it,  but  Abijah  always  gets  confused  in  her 
stories,  and  of  course  Lucy  knows  only  what  she  is  told. 
I  should  like  to  know  all  about  it.'  Of  course  I  told  her- 
the  whole  story,  and  how  much  Mr.  Cartwright  says  he 
is  indebted  to  you  for  the  warning  you  brought  him,  and 
how  every  one  is  speaking  in  praise  of  your  conduct,  and 
what  a  good  elrect  it  has  had. 

"I  told  her  that  of  course  the  Luddites  would  be  very 
much  incensed  against  you,  and  that  it  was  adding  to 
the  risks  that  you  already  ran.  She  lay  on  the  sofa  qui- 
etly with  her  eyes  shut  all  the  time  I  was  speaking.  I 
could  see  her  color  come  and  go,  and  some  tears  fell 
down  her  cheeks;  then  she  said  in  a  tone  which  she  tried 
to  make  hard  and  careless,  but  which  really  trembled, 
'The  military  ought  to  put  a  guard  over  my  son.  Why 
does  he  go  risking  his  life  for  other  people?  What  busi- 
ness is  it  of  his  whether  Cartwright's  mill  is  burned  or 
not?'  I  said  that  Mr.  Cartwright  had  been  very  kind  to 
you,  and  that  I  knew  that  you  were  much  attached  to 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  295 

him.  I  also  said  that  the  military  were  anxious  that  you 
should  have  an  escort  to  and  from  the  mill,  but  that  you 
objected.  I  said  that  I  was  afraid  that  your  life  had  not 
much  value  in  your  own  eyes,  for  that  it  was  by  no  means 
a  happy  one.  'It  has  value  in  other  people's  eyes/  she 
said  irritably,  'in  Lucy's  and  in  his  brother's.  What 
would  they  do  if  he  was  to  throw  it  away?  Who  would 
look  after  the  mill  and  business  then?  He  has  no  right 
to  run  such  risks,  Mrs.  Porson,  no  right  at  all.  Of  course 
he  is  unhappy.  People  who  let  their  tempers  master 
them  and  do  things  are  sure  to  be  unhappy,  and  make 
other  people  unhapy  too;  but  that  is  no  reason  that  he 
should  cause  more  unhappiness  by  risking  his  own  life 
needlessly,  so,  Mrs.  Porson,  please  talk  to  your  husband 
and  tell  him  to  make  my  son  have  an  escort.  I  know  he 
always  listens  to  Mr.  Porson.' ' 

"Naturally  my  mother  is  anxious,  for  the  sake  of 
Charlie  and  Lucy,  that  I  should  live  to  carry  on  the  mill 
until  Charlie  is  old  enough  to  run  it  himself,"  Ned  said 
bitterly. 

"I  do  not  think  that  it  is  only  that,  Ned,"  Mrs.  Por- 
son said  kindly.  "That  was  only  the  excuse  that  your 
mother  made.  I  could  see  that  she  was  deeply  moved. 
I  believe,  Ned,  that  at  heart  she  still  loves  you  dearly. 
She  has  this  unhappy  fixed  idea  in  her  mind  that  you 
killed  her  husband,  and  believing  this  she  cannot  bear  to 
see  you;  but  I  am  sure  she  is  most  unhappy,  most  deeply 
to  be  pitied.  I  cannot  imagine  anything  more  dreadful 
than  the  state  of  mind  of  a  woman  who  believes  that  a 
son  of  hers  has  murdered  her  husband.  I  think  that  if 
you  quite  realized  what  her  feelings  must  be  you  would 
feel  a  little  less  bitter  than  you  do. 

"I  know,  Ned,  how  much  you  have  to  try  "you,  but  I 
am  sure  that  I  would  not  exchange  your  position  for  that 
•f  your  mother.  Her  pain  must  be  far  greater  than 


296  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

yours.  You  know  that  you  are  innocent,  and  hope  that 
some  day  you  may  be  able  to  prove  it.  She  thinks  she 
knows  that  you  are  guilty,  and  is  in  constant  dread  that 
something  may  occur  that  may  prove  your  guilt  t»  the 
world." 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,  Mrs.  Person/'  Ned  said 
wearily;  "at  any  rate  I  will  put  up  with  the  nuisance  of 
this  escort.  I  suppose  it  will  not  be  for  very  long,  for  I 
expect  that  we  shall  not  hear  very  much  more  of  the 
Luddites.  The  failures  upon  Cartwright's  mill  and  mine 
must  have  disheartened  them,  and  the  big  rewards  that 
are  offered  to  any  one  who  will  come  forward  and  betray 
the  rest  must  make  them  horribly  uncomfortable,  for  no 
one  can  be  sure  that  some  one  may  not  be  tempted  to 
turn  traitor." 

"What  is  the  matter  with  Bill?"  Ned  asked  Luke 
Marner  that  afternoon.  "I  see  he  is  away." 

"Yes,  sir,  he  be  a-sitting  with  John  Stukeley,  who 
they  say  is  main  bad.  It  seems  as  how  he  has  taken  a 
fancy  to  t'  lad,  though  why  he  should  oi  dunno,  for  Bill 
had  nowt  to  do  wi'  his  lot.  Perhaps  he  thinks  now  as 
Bill  were  right  and  he  were  wrong;  perhaps  it  only  is  as 
Bill  ha'  got  a  name  in  the  village  of  being  a  soft-hearted 
chap,  alias  ready  to  sit  up  at  noight  wi'  any  one  as  is  ill. 
Anyhow  he  sent  last  noight  to  ask  him  to  go  and  sit  wi' 
him,  and  Bill  sent  me  word  this  morning  as  how  he 
couldn't  leave  the  man." 

"Do  you  know  what  is  the  matter  with  him?" 

"I  dunno  for  certain,  Maister  Ned,  but  I  has  my  SUB- 
picions." 

"So  have  I,  Luke.  I  believe  he  got  a  gunshot  wound 
in  that  affair  at  the  mill."  Luke  nodded  significantly. 

"Dr.  Green  ought  to  see  him,"  Ned  said.  "A  gun- 
shot wound  is  not  a  thing  to  be  trifled  with." 

"The  doctor  ha'  been  up  twice  a  day  on  the  last  three 


THRO  UGH  THE  FEA  Y.  297 

days,"  Luke  replied.  "Oi  suppose  they  got  frighted 
and  were  obliged  to  call  him  in." 

"They  had  better  have  done  so  at  first,"  Ned  said; 
"they  might  have  been  quite  sure  that  he  would  say 
nothing  about  it  to  the  magistrates  whatsver  was  the 
matter  with  Stukeley.  I  thought  that  fellow  would  get 
into  mischief  before  he  had  done." 

"It  war  a  bad  day  for  the  village  when  he  coomed," 
Luke  said;  "what  wi'  his  preachings  and  his  talk,  he  ha* 
turned  the  place  upside  down.  I  doan't  say  as  Varley 
had  ever  a  good  name,  or  was  a  place  where  a  quiet  chap 
would  have  chosen  to  live.  For  fighting  and  drink  there 
weren't  a  worse  place  in  all  Yorkshire,  but  there  weren't 
no  downright  mischief  till  he  came.  Oi  wur  afraid  vor  a 
bit  when  he  came  a-hanging  aboot  Polly,  as  the  gal 
might  ha'  took  to  him,  for  he  can  talk  smooth  and  has 
had  edication,  and  Polly  thinks  a  wonderful  lot  of  that. 
Oi  were  main  glad  when  she  sent  him  aboot  his  business." 

"Well,  there  is  one  thing,  Luke;  if  anything  happens 
to  him  it  will  put  an  end  to  this  Luddite  business  at  Var- 
ley. Such  a  lesson  as  that  in  their  midst  would  do  more 
to  convince  them  of  the  danger  of  their  goings-on  than 
any  amount  of  argument  and  advice.'" 

"It  will  that,"  Luke  said.  "Oi  hear  as  they  are  all 
moighty  down  in  the  mouth  over  that  affair  at  Cart- 
wright's.  If  they  could  not  win  there,  when  they  were 
thirty  to  one,  what  chance  can  they  have  o'  stopping  the 
mills?  Oi  consider  as  how  that  has  been  the  best 
noight's  work  as  ha*  been  done  in  Yorkshire  for  years 
and  years.  There  ain't  a-been  anything  else  talked  of  in 
Varley  since.  I  ha'  heard  a  score  of  guesses  as  to  how 
you  found  owt  what  was  a-going  on  in  toime  to  get  tc 
the  mill — thank  God  there  ain't  one  as  suspects  as  our 
Polly  brought  you  the  news.  My  own  boys  doan't  know, 
and  ain't  a-going  to;  not  as  they  would  say  a  word  as 


298  THROUGH  THE  FRAY. 

would  harm  Polly  for  worlds,  but  as  they  gets  a  bit 
bigger  and  takes  to  drink,  there's  no  saying  what 
mightn't  slip  out  when  they  are  in  liquor.  So  you  and 
oi  and  Bill  be  the  only  ones  as  ull  ever  know  the  ins  and 
outs  o'  that  there  business." 


JVUKO  mu  THE  FRA  Y. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

CLEARED  AT  LAST. 

THE  night  was  a  wild  one.  The  weather  had  changed 
suddenly,  and  the  rain  beat  fiercely  in  the  faces  of  the 
hands  as  they  made  their  way  back  from  the  mill  up  to 
Varley.  As  the  night  came  on  the  storm  increased. 
The  wind  as  it  swept  across  the  moor  swirled  down  into 
the  hollow  in  which  Varley  stood,  as  if  it  would  scoop 
the  houses  out  of  their  foundations,  and  the  drops  of 
rain  were  driven  against  roof  and  wall  with  the  force  of 
hailstones. 

Bill  Swinton  was  sitting  up  again  with  John  Stukeley, 
and  as  he  bent  over  the  sick  man's  bed  and  tenderly 
lifted  his  head  while  he  held  a  cup  with  some  cooling 
drink  to  his  lips,  the  contrast  between  his  broad,  power- 
ful figure,  and  his  face,  marked  with  the  characteristics 
alike  of  good-temper,  kindness,  and  a  resolute  will,  and 
the  thin,  emaciated  invalid  was  very  striking.  Stuke- 
ley's  face  was  without  a  vestige  of  color;  his  eyes  were 
hollow  and  surrounded  by  dark  circles;  his  cheeks  were 
of  an  ashen  gray  pallor,  which  deepened  almost  to  a  lead 
color  round  his  lips. 

"Thou  ought'st  not  to  talk  so  much,  John,"  Bill  was 
saying.  "Thou  know'st  the  doctor  said  thou  must  not 
excite  thyself." 

"It  makes  no  difference,  Bill,  no  difference  at  all,  talk 
or  not  talk.  "What  does  it  matter?  I  am  dying,  and  he 
knows  it,  and  I  know  it;  so  do  you.  That  bit  of  lead  in 


300  THRO  UGH  THE  Fit  A  F. 

my  body  has  done  its  work.  Strange,  isn't  it,  that  you 
should  be  here  nursing  me  when  I  have  thought  of  shoot- 
ing you  a  score  of  times?  A  year  ago  it  seemed  absurd 
that  Polly  Powlett  should  like  a  boy  like  you  better  than 
a  man  like  me,  and  yet  1  was  sure  it  was  because  of  you 
she  would  have  nothing  to  say  to  me;  but  she  was  right, 
you  will  make  the  best  husband  of  the  two.  I  suppose 
it's  because  of  that  I  sent  for  you.  I  was  very  fond  of 
Polly,  Bill,  and  when  I  felt  that  I  was  going,  and  there 
wasn't  any  use  my  being  jealous  any  longer,  I  seemed  to 
turn  to  you.  I  knew  you  would  come,  for  you  have  been 
always  ready  to  do  a  kindness  to  a  chap  who  was  down. 
You  are  different  to  the  other  lads  here.  I  do  believe 
you  are  fond  of  reading.  Whenever  you  think  I  am 
asleep  you  take  up  your  book." 

"Oi  am  trying  to  improve  myself,"  Bill  said  quietly. 
"Maister  Sankey  put  me  in  the  roight  way.  He  gives 
me  an  hour,  and  sometimes  two,  every  evening.  He  has 
been  wonderful  kind  to  me,  he  has;  there  ain't  nothing 
oi  wouldn't  do  for  him." 

The  sick  man  moved  uneasily. 

"No  more  wouldn't  Luke  and  Polly,"  Bill  went  on. 
"His  father  gived  his  loife,  you  know,  for  little  Jenny. 
No,  tuere  ain't  nowt  we  wouldn't  do  for  him,"  he  con- 
tinued, glad  to  turn  the  subject  from  that  of  Stukeley's 
affection  for  Polly.  "He  be  one  of  the  best  of  maisters. 
Oi  would  give  my  life's  blood  if  so  be  as  oi  could  clear 
him  of  that  business  of  Mulready's." 

For  a  minute  or  two  not  a  word  was  said.  The  wind 
roared  round  the  building,  and  in  the  intervals  of  the 
gusts  the  high  clock  in  the  corner  of  the  room  ticked 
steadily  and  solemnly  as  if  distinctly  intimating  that  its 
movements  were  not  to  be  hurried  by  the  commotion  with- 
out. Stukeley  had  closed  his  eyes,  and  Bill  began  to 
hope  that  he  was  going  to  doze  off,  when  he  asked  sud« 
denly: 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  301 

"Bill,  do  you  know  who  sent  that  letter  that  was  read 
at  the  trial — I  mean  the  one  from  the  chap  as  said  he 
done  it,  and  was  ready  to  give  himself  up  if  the  boy  was 
found  guilty?" 

Bill  did  not  answer. 

"You  can  tell  me,  if  you  know,"  Stukeley  said  im- 
patiently. "You  don't  suppose  as  I  am  going  to  tell 
now!  Maybe  I  shan't  see  any  one  to  tell  this  side  of  the 
grave,  for  I  doubt  as  I  shall  see  the  morning.  Who 
wrote  it?" 

"I  wrote  it,"  Bill  said;  "but  it  warn't  me  as  was  com- 
ing forward,  it  war  Luke's  idee  fust.  He  made  up  his 
moind  as  to  own  up  as  it  was  he  as  did  it  and  to  be  hung 
for  it  to  save  Maister  Ned,  acause  the  captain  lost  his 
loife  for  little  Jenny." 

"'But  he  didn't  do  it,"  Stukeley  said  sharply. 

"No,  he  didn't  do  it,"  Bill  replied. 

There  was  a  silence  again  for  a  long  time;  then  Stuke- 
ley opened  his  eyes  suddenly. 

"Bill,  I  should  like  to  see  Polly  again.  Dost  think  as 
she  will  come  aud  say  good-by?" 

"Oi  am  sure  as  she  will,"  Bill  said  steadily.  "Shall  oi 
go  and  fetch  her?" 

"It's  a  wild  night  to  ask  a  gal  to  come  out  on  such  an 
errand,"  Stukeley  said  doubtfully. 

"Polly  won't  mind  that,"  Bill  replied  confidently. 
"She  will  just  wrap  her  shawl  round  her  head  and  come 
over.  Oi  will  run  across  and  fetch  her.  Oi  will  not  be 
gone  three  minutes." 

In  little  more  than  that  time  Bill  returned  with  Mary 
Powlett. 

"I  am  awfully  sorry  to  hear  you  are  so  bad,  John,"  the 
girl  said  fraakly. 

"I  am  dying,  Polly;  I  know  that,  or  I  wouldn't  have 
sent  for  ye.  It  was  a  good  day  2or  you  when  you  said  u« 
to  what  I  asked  you." 


3Q2  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

"Never  mind  that  now,  John;  that's  all  past  and 
gone." 

"Ay,  that's  all  past  and  gone.  I  only  wanted  to  say 
as  I  wish  you  well,  Polly,  and  I  hope  you  will  be  happy, 
and  I  am  pretty  nigh  sure  of  it.  Bill  here  tells  me  that 
you  set  your  heart  on  having  young  Sankey  cleared  of 
that  business  as  was  against  him.  Is  that  so?" 

"That  is  so,  John;  he  has  been  very  kind  to  us  all,  to 
feyther  and  all  of  us.  He  is  a  good  master  to  his  men, 
and  has  kept  many  a  moufch  full  this  winter  as  would 
have  been  short  of  food  without  him;  but  why  do  you 
ask  me?" 

"Just  a  fancy  of  mine,  gal,  such  a  fancy  as  comes  into 
the  head  of  a  man  at  the  last.  When  you  get  back  send 
Luke  here.  It  is  late  and  maybe  he  has  gone  to  bed,  but 
tell  him  I  must  speak  to  him.  And  now,  good-by,  Polly, 
God  bless  you!  I  don't  know  as  I  hasn't  been  wrong 
about  all  this  business,  but  it  didn't  seem  so  to  me  afore. 
Just  try  and  think  that,  will  you,  when  you  hear  about 
it.  I  thought  as  I  was  a-acting  for  the  good  of  tha 
men." 

"I  will  always  remember  that,"  Polly  said  gently. 

Then  she  took  the  thin  hand  of  the  man  in  hers, 
glanced  at  Bill  as  if  she  would  ask  his  approval,  and 
reading  acquiesence  in  his  eyes  she  stooped  over  the  bed 
and  kissed  Stukeley's  forehead.  Then  without  a  word 
she  left  the  cottage  and  hurried  away  through  the  dark- 
ness. 

A  few  minutes  later  Luke  Marner  came  in,  and  to 
Bill's  surprise  Stukeley  asked  him  to  leave  the  room.  In 
five  minutes  Luke  came  out  again. 

"Go  in  to  him,  Bill,"  he  said  hoarsely.  "Oi  think  he 
be  a-sinking.  For  God's  sake  keep  him  up.  Give  him 
that  wine  and  broath  stuff  as  thou  canst.  Keep  him 
going  till  oi  coom  back  again;  thou  doan't  know  what 
depends  on  it." 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  303 

Hurrying  back  to  his  cottage  Luke  threw  on  a  thick 
coat,  and  to  the  astonishment  of  Polly  announced  that  he 
was  going  down  into  Marsden. 

"What!  an  such  a  night  as  this,  feyther?" 

"Ay,  lass,  and  would  if  it  it  were  ten  toimes  wurse. 
Get  ye  into  thy  room,  and  go  down  on  thy  knees,  and 
pray  God  to  keep  John  Stukeley  alive  and  clear-headed 
till  oi  coomes  back  again." 

It  was  many  years  since  Luke  Marner's  legs  had  carried 
him  so  fast  as  they  now  did  into  Marsden.  The  driving 
rain  and  hail  which  beat  against  him  seemed  unheeded 
as  he  ran  down  the  hill  at  the  top  of  his  speed.  He 
stopped  at  the  doctor's  and  went  in.  Two  or  three 
minutes  after  the  arrival  of  this  lato  visitor  Dr.  Green's 
housekeeper  was  astonished  at  hearing  the  bell  ring  vio- 
lently. On  answering  the  bell  she  was  ordered  to  arouse 
John,  who  had  already  gone  to  bed,  and  to  tell  him  to 
put  the  horse  into  the  gig  instantly. 

"Not  on  such  a  night  as  this,  doctor!  sureley  you  are 
not  a-going  out  on  such  a  night  as  this!" 

"Hold  your  tongue,  woman,  and  do  as  you  are  told 
instantly,"  the  doctor  said  with  far  greater  spirit  than 
usual,  for  his  housekeeper  was,  as  a  general  thing,  mis- 
tress of  the  establishment. 

With  an  air  of  greatly  offended  dignity  she  retired  to 
sarry  out  his  orders.  Three  minutes  later  the  doctor  ran 
out  of  his  room  as  he  heard  the  man-servant  descending 
the  stairs. 

"John,"  he  said,  "I  am  going  on  at  once  to  Mr. 
Thompson's;  bring  the  gig  round  there.  I  shan't  want 
you  to  go  further  with  me.  Hurry  up,  man,  and  don't 
'  lose  a  moment — it  is  a  matter  of  life  and  death." 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  Dr.  Green,  with  Mr. 
Thompson  by  his  side,  drove  off  through  the  tempesfc 
toward  Varley. 


304  THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T. 

The  next  morning,  as  Ned  was  at  breakfast,  the  doctor 
was  announced. 

"What  a  pestilently  early  hour  you  breakfast  at,  Ned! 
I  was  not  in  bed  till  three  o'clock,  and  I  scarcely  seemed 
to  have  been  asleep  an  hour  when  I  was  obliged  to  get  up 
to  be  in  time  to  catch  you  before  you  were  off." 

"That  is  hard  on  you  indeed,  doctor,"  Ned  said,  smil- 
ing; "but  why  this  haste?  Have  you  got  some  patient 
for  whom  you  want  my  help?  You  need  not  have  got  up 
so  early  for  that,  you  know.  You  could  have  ordered 
anything  you  wanted  for  him  in  my  name.  You  might 
have  been  sure  I  should  have  honored  the  bill.  But  what 
made  you  so  late  last  night?  You  were  surely  never  out 
in  such  a  gale!" 

"I  was,  Ned,  and  strange  as  it  seems  I  never  went  in 
answer  to  a  call  which  gave  me  so  much  satisfaction. 
My  dear  lad,  I  hardly  know  how  to  tell  you.  I  have  a 
piece  of  news  for  you;  the  greatest,  the  best  news  that 
man  could  have  to  tell  you." 

Ned  drew  a  long  breath  and  the  color  left  his  cheeks. 
"You  don't  mean,  doctor,  you  can't  mean" — and  he 
paused. 

"That  you  are  cleared,  my  boy.  Yes;  that  is  my 
news.  Thank  God,  Ned,  your  innocence  is  proved." 

Ned  could  not  speak.  For  a  minute  he  sat  silent  and 
motionless.  Then  he  bent  forward  and  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands,  and  his  lips  moved  as  he  murmured  a 
deep  thanksgiving  to  God  for  this  mercy,  while  Lucy 
and  Charlie,  with  cries  of  surprise  and  delight,  leaped 
from  the  table,  and  when  Ned  rose  to  his  feet,  threw 
their  arms  round  his  neck  with  enthusiastic  delight; 
while  the  doctor  wrung  his  hand,  and  then,  taking  out 
his  pocket-handkerchief,  wiped  his  eyes,  violently  declar- 
ing, as  he  did  so,  that  he  was  an  old  fool. 

"Tell  me  all  about  it,  doctor.  How  has  it  happened! 
What  has  brought  it  about?" 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  7.  305 

"Luke  Marner  came  down  to  me  at  ten  o'clock  last 
sight  to  fcell  me  that  John  Stukeley  was  dying,  which  I 
knew  very  well,  for  when  I  saw  him  in  the  afternoon  I 
saw  he  was  sinking  fast;  but  he  told  me,  too,  that  the 
man  was  anxious  to  sign  a  declaration  before  a  magistrate 
to  the  effect  that  it  was  he  who  killed  your  stepfather, 
I  had  my  gig  got  out  and  hurried  away  to  Thompson's, 
The  old  fellow  was  rather  crusty  at  being  called  out  on 
such  a  night,  but  to  do  him  justice,  I  must  say  he  went 
readily  enough  when  he  found  what  he  was  required  for, 
though  it  must  have  given  him  a  twinge  of  conscience, 
for  you  know  he  has  never  been  one  of  your  partisans. 
However,  off  we  drove,  and  got  there  in  time, 

"Stukeley  made  a  full  confession.  It  all  happened 
just  as  we  thought.  It  had  been  determined  by  the 
Luddites  to  kill  Mulready,  and  Stukeley  determined  to 
carry  out  the  business  himself,  convinced,  as  he  says, 
that  the  man  was  a  tyrant  and  an  oppressor,  and  that 
his  death  was  not  only  richly  deserved,  but  that  such  a 
blow  was  necessary  to  encourage  the  Luddites.  He  did 
not  care,  however,  to  run  the  risk  of  taking  any  of  the 
others  into  his  confidence,  and  therefore  carried  it  out 
alone,  and  to  this  day,  although  some  of  the  others  may 
have  their  suspicions,  no  one  knows  for  certain  that  he 
was  the  perpetrator  of  the  act. 

*'He  had  armed  himself  with  a  pistol  and  went  down  to 
the  mill,  intending  to  shoot  Mulready  as  he  came  out  ut 
night,  but,  stumbling  upon  the  rope,  thought  that  it  wai 
a  safer  and  more  certain  means.  After  fastening  it 
across  the  road  he  sat  down  and  waited,  intending  to 
^ehoot  your  stepfather  if  the  accident  didn't  turn  out 
fatal.  After  the  crash,  finding  that  Mulready's  neck 
was  broken  and  that  he  was  dead,  he  made  off  home.  He 
wished  it  specially  to  be  placed  on  his  deposition  that  he 
made  his  confession  not  from  any  regret  at  having  kille^ 


308  THROUGH  THEFRAT. 

Mulready,  but  simply  to  oblige  Mary  Powlett,  wnose 
heart  was  bent  upon  your  innocence  being  proved.  He 
signed  the  deposition  in  the  presence  of  Thompson,  my- 
self, and  Bill  Swinton." 

"And  you  think  it  is  true,  doctor,  you  really  think  it 
is  true?  It  is  not  like  Luke's  attempt  to  save  me?" 

"I  am  certain  it  is  true,  Ned.  The  man  was  dying, 
and  there  was  no  mistake  about  his  earnestness.  There 
is  not  a  shadow  of  doubt.  I  sent  Swinton  back  in  the 
gig  with  Thompson  and  stayed  with  the  man  till  half- 
past  two.  He  was  unconscious  then.  He  may  linger  a 
few  hours,  but  will  not  live  out  the  day,  and  there  is 
little  chance  of  his  again  recovering  consciousness. 
Thompson  will  to-day  send  a  copy  of  the  deposition  to 
the  home  secretary,  with  a  request  that  it  may  be  made 
public  through  the  newspapers.  It  will  appear  in  all  tho 
Yorkshire  papers  next  Saturday,  and  all  the  world  will 
know  that  you  are  innocent." 

"What  will  my  mother  say?"  Ned  exclaimed,  turning 
pale  again. 

"I  don't  know  what  she  will  say,  my  lad,  but  I  know 
what  she  ought  to  say.  I  am  going  round  to  Thompson's 
now  for  a  copy  of  the  deposition,  and  will  bring  it  for  her 
to  see.  Thompson  will  read  it  aloud  at  the  meeting  of 
the  court  to-day,  so  by  this  afternoon  every  one  will 
know  that  you  are  cleared." 

Abijah's  joy  when  she  heard  that  Ned's  innocence  was 
proved  was  no  less  than  that  of  his  brother  and  sister, 
She  would  have  rushed  upstairs  at  once  to  tell  the  news 
to  her  mistress,  but  Ned  persuaded  her  not  to  do  so  until 
the  doctor's  return. 

"Then  he  will  have  to  be  quick,"  Abijah  said,  "for  if 
the  mistress'  bell  rings,  and  I  have  to  go  up  before  ho 
comes,  I  shall  never  be  able  to  keep  it  to  myself.  She 
will  see  it  in  my  face  that  something  has  happened.  If 


THRO  UQH  THE  FRA  7.  307 

She  bell  rings,  Miss  Lucy,  you  must  go  up,  and  if  she 
asks  for  me,  say  that  I  am  particular  busy,  and  will  be 
up  in  a  few  minutes." 

The  bell,  however,  did  not  ring  before  thr  doctor's  re- 
turn. After  a  short  consultation  between  him  and  Ned, 
Abijah  was  called  in. 

"Mr.  Sankey  agrees  with  me,  Abijah,  that  you  had 
better  break  the  news.  Your  mistress  is  more  accus- 
tomed to  you  than  to  any  one  else,  and  you  understand 
her  ways.  Here  is  the  deposition.  I  shall  wait  below 
here  till  you  come  down.  There  is  no  saying  how  she 
will  take  it.  Be  sure  you  break  the  news  gently." 

Abijah  went  upstairs  with  a  hesitating  step,  strongly  in 
contrast  with  her  usual  quick  bustling  walk.  She  had 
before  felt  rather  aggrieved  that  the  doctor  should  be 
the  first  to  break  tho  news;  but  she  now  felt  the  difficulty 
of  the  task,  and  would  gladly  have  been  spared  the 
responsibility. 

"I  have  been  expecting  you  for  the  last  quarter  of  an 
hour,  Abijah,"  Mrs.  Mulready  said  querulously.  "You 
know  how  I  hate  to  have  the  room  untidy  after  I  have 
dressed.  Why,  what's  the  matter?"  she  broke  off  sharply 
as  she  noticed  Abijah's  face.  "Why,  you  have  been 
crying!" 

"Yes,  ma'am,  I  have  been  crying,"  Abijah  said  un- 
steadily, "but  I  don't  know  as  ever  I  shall  cry  again, 
for  I  have  heard  such  good  news  as  will  last  me  the  rest 
of  my  whole  life." 

"What  news,  Abijah?"  Mrs.  Mulready  asked  quickly. 
"What  are  you  making  a  mystery  about,  and  what  is 
that  paper  in  your  hand?" 

"Weil,  ma'am,  God  has  been  very  good  to  us  all.  I 
knew  as  he  would  be  sooner  or  later,  though  sometimes  I 
began  to  doubt  whether  it  would  be  in  my  time,  and  ifc 
did  break  my  heart  to  see  Maister  Ned  go™**  ahnn*-.  BO 


308  THRO  UGH  TL^i  FRA  T. 

pale  and  unnatural  loike  for  a  lad  like  him,  and  to  know 
as  there  was  people  as  thought  that  he  was  a  murderer. 
And  now,  thank  God,  it  is  all  over." 

"Ail  over!  what  do  you  mean,  Abijah?"  Mrs.  Mul- 
ready  exclaimed,  rising  suddenly  from  her  invalid  chair. 
"What  do  you  mean  by  saying  that  it  is  all  over?"  and 
she  seized  the  old  nurse's  arm  with  an  eager  grasp. 

"Don't  excite  yourself  so,  mistress.  You  have  been 
sore  tried,  but  it  is  over  now,  and  to-day  all  the  world 
will  know  as  Maister  Ned  is  proved  to  be  innocent.  This 
here  paper  is  a  copy  of  the  confession  of  tha  man  as  did 
it,  and  who  is,  they  say,  dead  by  this  time.  It  was 
taken  all  right  and  proper  afore  a  magistrate." 

"Innocent!"  Mrs.  Mulready  gasped  in  a  voice  scarcely 
above  a  whisper.  "Did  you  tell  me,  Abijah,  that  my 
boy,  my  boy  Ned,  is  innocent?" 

"I  never  doubted  as  he  was  innocent,  ma'am;  but  now, 
thank  God,  all  the  world  will  know  it.  There,  ma'am, 
sit  yourself  down.  Don't  look  like  that.  I  know  as  how 
you  must  feel,  but  for  mercy  sake  don't  look  like  that." 

Mrs.  Mulready  did  not  seem  to  hear  her,  did  not  seem 
to  notice,  as  she  passively  permitted  herself  to  be  seated 
in  the  chair,  while  Abijah  poured  out  a  glass  of  wine. 
Her  face  was  pale  and  rigid,  her  eyes  wide  open,  her  ex- 
pression one  of  horror  rather  than  relief. 

"Innocent!  Proved  innocent!"  she  murmured. 
"What  must  he  think  of  me — me,  his  mother!" 

For  some  time  she  sat  looking  straight  before  her,  tak- 
ing no  notice  of  the  efforts  of  Abijah  to  call  her  atten- 
tion, and  unheeding  the  glass  of  wine  which  she  in  vain 
pressed  her  to  drink. 

"I  must  go  away,"  she  said  at  last,  rising  suddenly. 
"I  must  go  away  at  once.  Has  he  gone  yet?" 

"Go  away,  ma'am!  Why,  what  should  you  go  away 
|or,  anj  ~u ~e  you  going?" 


THROUGH  THE  FRAT.  309 

"It  does  not  matter;  it  makes  no  difrerance,"  Mrs. 
Mulready  said  feverishly,  "so  that  I  get  away.  Put 
Eome  of  my  things  together,  Abijuh.  Yv  hat  are  you  star- 
ing there  for?  Don't  you  hear  what  I  say?  I  must  go 
away  directly  he  has  started  for  the  mill." 

And  with  trembling  fingers  she  began  to  open  her 
drawers  and  pull  out  her  clothes. 

"But  you  can't  go  away  like  that,  mistress.  You 
can't,  indeed,"  Abijah  said,  aghast. 

"1  must  go,  Abijah.  There  is  nothing  else  for  me  to 
do.  Do  you  think  I  could  see  him  after  treating  him  as 
I  have  done?  I  should  fall  dead  at  his  feet  for  shame." 

"But  where  are  you  going,  ma'am?"  Abijah  said, 
thinking  it  better  not  to  attempt  to  argue  with  her  in 
ihter  present  state. 

"I  don't  know,  I  don't  knovir.  Yes,  I  do.  Do  you  know 
whether  that  cottage  you  were  telling  me  about  where 
you  lived  while  you  were  away  from  here,  is  to  let?  That 
will  do  nicely,  for  there  I  should  be  away  from  every 
one.  Get  me  a  box  from  the  lumber-room,  and  tell  Har- 
riet to  go  out  and  get  me  a  post-chaise  from  the  Bed 
Lion  as  soon  as  my  son  has  gone  to  the  mill." 

"Very  well,"  Abijah  said.  "I  will  do  as  you  want  me, 
'm,  if  you  will  sit  down  quiet  and  not  excite  yourself. 
You  know  you  have  not  been  out  of  your  room  for  a 
/ear,  and  if  you  go  a-tiring  yourself  like  this  you  will 
never  be  able  to  stand  the  journey.  You  sit  down  in  the 
ohair  and  I  will  do  the  packing  for  you.  You  can  tell 
me  what  things  you  will  take  with  you.  I  will  get  the 
box  down." 

So  saving,  Abijah  left  the  room,  and,  running  hastily 
downstairs,  told  Ned  and  the  doctor  the  manner  in 
which  Mrs.  Mulready  had  received  the  news.  Ned 
would  have  run  up  at  once  to  his  mother,  but  Dr.  Greea 
would  not  hear  of  it 


810  THRO  UOH  TEE  FRA  T. 

"It  would  not  do,  Ned.  In  your  mother's  present 
state  the  shock  of  seeing  you  might  have  the  worst 
effect.  Run  up,  Abijah,  and  get  the  hox  down  to  her. 
I  will  go  out  and  come  back  and  knock  at  the  door  in 
two  or  three  minutes,  and  will  go  up  and  see  her,  and, 
if  necessary,  I  will  give  her  a  strong  soothing  draught. 
You  had  better  tell  her  that  from  what  you  hear  you  be- 
lieve Mr.  Sankey  is  not  going  to  the  mill  to-day.  That 
will  make  her  delay  her  preparations  for  moving  until 
to-morrow,  and  will  give  us  time  to  see  what  is  best  to 
be  done." 

"I  have  brought  the  box,  mistress,"  Abijah  said  as  she 
entered  Mrs.  Mulready's  room;  "but  I  don't  think  as 
you  will  want  to  pack  to-day,  for  I  hear  as  Mr.  Ned  ain't 
a-going  to  the  mill.  You  see  all  the  town  will  be  coming 
to  see  him  to  shake  hands  with  him  and  tell  him  how 
glad  they  is  that  he  is  cleared." 

"And  only  I  can't!"  Mrs.  Mulready  wailed.  "To 
think  of  it,  only  I,  his  mother,  can't  see  him!  And  I 
must  stop  in  the  house  for  another  day!  Oh!  it  is  too 
hard!  But  I  deserve  it,  and  everything  else." 

"There  is  Dr.  Green's  knock,"  Abijah  said. 

"I  can't  see  him,  Abijah.     I  can't  see  him." 

"I  think  you  had  better  see  him,  ma'am.  You  always 
do  see  him,  you  know,  and  it  will  look  so  strange  if  you 
don't.  There,  I  will  pop  these  things  into  the  drawers 
again  and  hide  the  box." 

Abijah  bustled  about  actively,  and  before  Mrs.  Mul- 
ready had  time  to  take  any  decided  step  Dr.  Green 
knocked  at  the  door  and  came  in. 

"How  are  you  to-day,  Mrs.  Mulready?"  he  asked 
cheerfully.  "This  is  a  joyful  day  indeed  for  us  all. 
The  whole  place  is  wild  with  the  news,  and  I  expect  we 
•hall  bo  having  ft  deputation  nrpsentlv  to  congratula** 
Bed." 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T.  811 

"I  am  not  feeling  very  well,"  Mrs.  Mulready  said 
faintly.  "The  shock  has  been  too  much  for  me." 

"Very  natural,  very  natural,  indeed,"  Dr.  Green  said 
cheerily.  "We  could  hardly  hope  it  would  be  otherwise; 
lut  after  this  good  news  I  expect  we  shall  soon  make  a 
woman  of  you  again.  Your  son  will  be  the  most  popular 
man  in  the  place.  People  will  not  know  how  to  make 
enough  of  him.  Person  and  I,  who  have  been  cheering 
him  all  along,  will  have  to  snub  him  now  or  his  head  will 
be  turned.  Now  let  me  feel  your  pulse.  Dear!  dear! 
this  will  not  do  at  all;  it's  going  like  a  mill-engine. 
This  will  never  do.  If  you  do  not  calm  yourself  we  shall 
be  having  you  in  bed  again  for  a  long  bout.  I  will  send 
you  a  bottle  of  soothing  medicine.  You  must  take  it 
<;very  two  hours,  and  keep  yourself  perfectly  quiet. 
There,  I  will  not  talk  to  you  now  about  this  good  news, 
for  I  see  that  you  are  not  fit  to  stand  it.  You  must  lie 
flown  on  the  sofa  at  once,  and  not  get  o£E  again  to-day. 
I  will  look  in  this  evening  and  see  how  you  are." 

Frightened  at  the  threat  that  if  she  were  not  quiet  she 
might  be  confined  to  her  bed  for  weeks,  Mrs.  Mulready 
obeyed  orders,  took  her  medicine  when  it  arrived,  and 
lay  quiet  on  the  sofa.  For  a  long  time  the  sedative 
failed  to  have  any  effect.  Every  five  minutes  through- 
out the  day  there  were  knocks  at  the  door.  Every  one 
•?rao  knew  Ned,  and  many  who  did  not,  called  to  congrat- 
ulate him.  Some,  like  Mr.  Thompson,  made  a  half- 
npology  for  having  so  long  doubted  him.  A  few,  like 
Mr.  Simmonds,  were  able  heartily  to  assure  him  that  they 
had  never  in  their  hearts  believed  it.  Ned  was  too  full 
of  gratitude  and  happiness  to  cherish  the  slightest  ani- 
mosity, and  he  received  warmly  and  thankfully  the  con- 
gratulations which  were  showered  upon  him. 

"He  looks  another  man,"  was  the  universal  comment 
of  his  visitors;  and,  indeed,  it  was  so.  The  cloud  which 


THRO  UQff  THE  FEA  T. 

had  so  long  overshadowed  him  had  passed  away,  and  tb« 
look  of  cold  reserve  had  vanished  with  it,  and  he  was 
prepared  again  to  receive  the  world  as  a  friend.  He  was 
most  moved  when,  early  in  the  day,  Mr.  Porson  and  the 
whole  of  the  boys  arrived.  As  soon  as  he  had  left  Mrs. 
Mulready,  Dr.  Green  had  hurried  down  to  the  school- 
house  with  the  news,  and  Mr.  Porsou,  as  soon  as  he 
heard  it,  had  announced  it  from  his  desk,  adding  that 
after  such  news  as  that  he  could  not  expect  them  to  con- 
tinue their  lessons,  and  that  the  rest  of  the  day  must 
therefore  be  regarded  as  a  holiday.  He  yielded  a  ready 
assent  when  the  boys  entreated  that  they  might  go  in  a 
body  to  congratulate  Ned. 

Ned  was  speechless  for  some  time  as  his  old  friend 
wrung  his  hand,  and  his  former  schoolfellows  clustered 
round  him  with  a  very  Babel  of  congratulations  and  good 
wishes.  Only  the  knowledge  that  his  mother  was  ill 
above  prevented  them  from  breaking  into  uproarious 
cheering.  In  the  afternoon,  hearing  that  his  mother 
was  still  awake,  Ned,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Porson,  went 
out  for  a  stroll,  telling  Harriet  that  she  was  to  remain  at 
the  open  door  while  he  was  away,  so  as  to  prevent  any 
one  from  knocking.  It  was  something  of  a  trial  to  Ned 
to  walk  through  the  street  which  he  had  passed  along  so 
many  times  in  the  last  year  oblivious  of  all  within  it. 
Every  man  and  woman  he  met  insisted  on  shaking  hands 
with  him.  Tradesmen  left  their  shops  and  ran  out  to 
greet  him,  and  there  was  no  mistaking  the  general  en- 
thusiasm which  was  felt  on  the  occasion,  and  the  desire 
of  every  one  to  atone  as  far  as  possible  for  the  unmerited 
suffering  which  had  been  inflicted  on  him. 

When  he  returned  at  six  o'clock  he  found  Harriet  still 
on  the  watch,  and  she  said  in  low  tones  that  Abijah  had 
just  come  downstairs  with  the  news  that  her  mistress  had 
fallen  asleep. 


THRO  UGH  THE  PRA  T.  313 

"I  should  not  think  any  one  more  will  come,  Harriet, 
but  I  will  get  you  to  stop  here  for  a  little  longer.  Then 
we  must  fasten  up  the  knocker  and  take  off  the  bell. 
The  doctor  says  that  it  is  all-important  that  my  mother 
should  get  a  long  and  undisturbed  sleep." 

Dr.  Green  came  in  again  in  the  evening,  and  had  a 
long  chat  with  Ned.  It  was  nearly  midnight  before  Mrs. 
Mulready  awoke.  On  opening  her  eyes  she  saw  Ned 
sitting  at  a  short  distance  from  the  sofa.  She  gave  & 
isudden  start,  and  then  a  look  of  terror  came  into  he? 
1'iace. 

Ned  rose  to  his  feet  and  held  out  his  arms  with  the  onr 
word  "Mother!" 

Mrs.  Mulready  slid  from  the  sofa  and  threw  herself  or 
Iher  knees  with  her  hands  clasped. 

"Oh!  my  boy,  my  boy!"  she  cried,  "can  you  forgive 
ine?"  Then,  as  he  raised  her  in  his  arms,  she  fainted. 

It  was  a  happy  party,  indeed,  that  assembled  rotmc- 
the  breakfast-table  next  morning.  Mrs.  Mulready  \vas 
at  the  head  of  the  table  making  tea,  looking  pale  and 
weak,  but  with  a  look  of  quiet  happiness  and  contentment 
on  her  face  such  as  her  children  had  never  seen  there 
before,  but  which  was  henceforth  to  be  its  habitual  ez- 
pression. 

Ned  did  not  carry  out  his  original  intention  of  entering 
the  army.  Mr.  Simmonds  warmly  offered  to  make  the 
application  for  a  commission  for  him,  but  Ned  declined. 
He  had  made  up  his  mind,  he  said,  to  stick  to  the  mill; 
there  was  plenty  of  work  to  be  done  there,  and  he  fore- 
saw that  with  a  continued  improvement  of  machinery 
there  was  a  great  future  for  the  manufacturing  interests 
of  England. 

The  Luddite  movement  gradually  died  out.  The  high 
rewards  offered  for  the  discovery  of  the  murderers  of  Mr. 
Eorsfall  and  of  the  assailants  of  Cartwright's  mill  had 


814  THRO  UGH  THE  PR  A  T. 

their  effect.  Three  croppers,  Mellor,  Thorpe  and  Smith, 
were  denounced  and  brought  to  trial.  All  three  had 
been  concerned  in  the  murder,  together  with  Walker, 
who  turned  king's  evidence  for  the  reward — Mellor  and 
Thorpe  having  fired  the  fatal  shots.  The  same  men  had 
been  the  leaders  in  the  attack  on  Cartwright's  mill. 

They  were  tried  at  the  assizes  at  York  on  the  2d  of 
January,  1813,  with  sixty-four  of  their  comrades,  before 
Baron  Thomas  and  Judge  Le  Blanc,  and  were  found 
guilty,  although  they  were  defended  by  Henry  (after- 
ward Lord)  Brougham.  Mellor,  Thorpe,  and  Smith  were 
executed  three  days  afterward.  Fourteen  of  the  others 
were  hung,  as  were  five  Luddites  who  were  tried  before 
another  tribunal. 

After  this  wholesale  act  of  severity  the  Luddite  dis- 
turbances soon  came  to*  an  end.  The  non-success  which 
had  attended  their  efforts,  and  the  execution  of  all  their 
leaders,  thoroughly  cowed  the  rioters,  and  their  ranks 
were  speedily  thinned  by  the  nr.mber  of  hands  who  found 
employment  in  the  rapidly  increasing  mills  in  the  dis- 
trict. Anyhow  from  that  time  the  Luddite  conspiracy 
ceased  to  be  formidable. 

The  Sankeys'  mill  at  Marsden  flourished  greatly  under 
Ned's  management.  Every  year  saw  additions  to  the 
buildings  and  machinery  until  it  became  one  of  the 
largest  concerns  in  Yorkshire.  He  was  not  assisted,  as 
be  had  at  one  time  hoped  he  should  be,  by  his  brother  in 
the  management;  but  he  was  well  contented  when 
Charlie,  on  leaving  school,  declared  his  wish  to  go  to 
Cambridge,  and  then  to  enter  the  church,  a  life  for  which 
he  was  far  better  suited  by  temperament  than  for  tb« 
active  life  of  a  man  of  business. 

The  trial  through  which  Ned  Sankey  had  passed  had  a 
lasting  effect  upon  his  character.  Whatever  afterward 
occurred  to  vex  him  in  business  he  was  never  known  to 


THRO  UGH  THE  FRA  T,  315 

fitter  a  hasty  word,  or  to  form  a  hasty  judgment.  He 
was  ever  busy  in  devising  schemes  for  the  benefit  of  his 
workpeople,  and  to  be  inSankey's  mill  was  considered  as 
the  greatest  piece  of  good  fortune  which  could  befall  a 
hand. 

Four  years  after  the  confession  of  John  Stukeley  Ned 
married  the  daughter  of  his  friend  George  Cartwright, 
and  settled  down  in  a  handsome  house  which  he  had 
built  for  himself  a  short  distance  out  of  Marsden.  Lucy 
was  soon  afterward  settled  in  a  house  of  her  own,  having 
married  a  young  land-owner  with  ample  estates. 

Mrs.  Mulready,  in  spite  of  the  urgent  persuasions  of 
her  son  and  his  young  wife,  refused  to  take  up  her  resi- 
dence with  them,  but  established  nerself  in  a  pretty  little 
house  close  at  hand,  spending,  however,  a  considerable 
portion  of  each  day  with  him  at  his  home.  The  trials 
through  which  she  had  gone  had  done  even  more  for  her 
than  for  Ned.  All  her  querulous  listlessness  had  disap- 
peared. She  was  bright,  cheerful,  and  even-tempered. 
Ned  used  to  tell  her  that  she  grew  younger  looking  every 
day. 

Her  pride  and  happiness  in  her  son  were  unbounded, 
and  these  culminated  when,  ten  years  after  his  accession 
to  the  management  of  the  mill,  Ned  acceded  to  the  re- 
quest of  a  large  number  of  manufacturers  in  the  district, 
to  stand  for  Parliament  as  the  representative  of  the  mill- 
owning  interest,  and  was  triumphantly  returned  at  the 
head  of  the  poll. 

Of  the  other  characters  of  this  story  little  need  be  said. 
Dr.  Green  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Person  remained  Ned's 
closest  friends  to  the  end  of  their  lives.  Mary  Powlett 
did  not  compel  Bill  Swinton  to  wait  until  the  situation  of 
foreman  of  the  mill  became  vacant,  but  married  him  two 
years  after  the  death  of  John  Stukeley.  Bill  became  in 
time  not  only  foreman  but  the  confidential  manager  of 


816  THRO  UGH  TEE  FRA  F. 

the  mill,  and  he  and  his  wife  were  all  their  lives  on  the 
footing  of  dear  friends  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sankey. 

Luke  Marner  remained  foreman  of  his  room  until  too 
old  for  further  work,  when  he  retired  on  a  comfortable 
pension,  and  was  succeeded  in  his  post  by  his  son  George. 
Ned  and  Amy  Sankey  had  a  large  family,  who  used  tc 
listen  with  awe  and  admiration  to  the  tale  of  the  terrible 
trial  which  had  once  befallen  their  father,  and  of  the  waj 
ia  which  he  had  indeed  been  "'tried  in  the  fir«." 


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Peterborough  in  Spain. 
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Wallace  and  Bruce. 
In  the  Reign  of  Terror.  Adventures 

of  a  Westminster  Boy. 
In  Times  of  Peril.    A  Tale  of  India. 
Jack  Archer.  A  Tale  of  the  Crimea. 


Lion  of  St.  Mark,  The.     A  Story  of 

Venice  in  the  Fourteenth  Century. 
Lion  of  the  North.  The,    A  Tale  of 

Gustavus  Adolphus  and  Wars  of 

Religion. 
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New  Zealand  War. 
One  of  the!S8th.    A  Tale  of  Water- 

loo. 
Orange  and  Green.    A  Tale  of  the 

Boyne  and  Limerick. 
Out  on  the  Pampas.  A  Tale  of  South 

America. 
St.  George  for  England.    A  Tale  of 

Cressy  and  Poitiers. 
Sturdy  and  Strong ;  or,  How  George 

Andrews  Made  His  Way. 
Through  the  Fray.    A  Story  of  the 

Luddite  Kiots. 
True  to  the  Old  Flag.    A  Tale  of  the 

American  War  or  Independence. 
Under  Drake's  Flag.    A  Tale  of  the 

Spanish  Main. 

With  Clive  in  India;  or,  The  Begin- 
nings of  an  Empire. 
With  Lee  in  Virginia.     A  Story  of 

the  American  Civil  War. 
With  Wolfe  in  Canada ;  or,  The  Win- 
ning of  a  Continent. 
Young  Buglers,  The.    A  Tale  of  the 

Peninsular  War. 
Young  Carthaginian,  The.  A  Story 

of  the  Times  of  Hannibal. 
Young  Colonists,  The.     A  Story  of 

Life  and  War  in  South  Africa. 
Young  Franc-Tireurs,  The.    A  Tale 

of  the  Franco-Prussian  War. 
Young  Midshipman,  The.    ATaleof 

the  Siege  of  Alexandria. 


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